


The Weaving of Life's Tapestry

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Comedy, Drama, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-07
Updated: 2008-06-22
Packaged: 2018-10-26 18:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10792416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Beginning in the Christmas season five years after the Final Battle, this story traces pivotal events in the life of everyone's favorite prat and bookworm.





	1. Quiet Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: _A/N This is my first fan fiction, and I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed being pounced upon by the idea. MAJOR thanks go to hgfan1111, the best beta a new author could ask for—she was constructively critical and a huge part of my decision to be brave enough to submit this!_  


* * *

The kitchen at the Burrow had never been known for being a quiet, relaxing place in which one could gather their thoughts, even less so with the approaching holiday season. How could it have been, when it was the center of a house full of Weasleys? 

 

But for Molly Weasley, late at night in the comfort of her worn dressing gown, it became her sanctuary. The kitchen was her place to allow her brain to unwind from the hectic job of raising and caring for her brood, and to finally sort out her worries.

 

Worries for her darling husband and his penchant for bewitching Muggle items; fear that someone might catch on to _why_ there were certain loopholes in the laws. 

 

Worries for her sanity when it came time to finally send her rambunctious twins to Hogwarts. 

 

She’d spent a tearful night standing near the kettle when Charlie had announced he would be going to Romania to work with dragons. Her pride for her son’s ambition mingling with the bitter thought of having him so far away from home and family.

 

Then, the battle she had raged within herself when her eldest was to wed, convinced that he was letting the charm of the young French woman’s beauty outweigh his common sense. She smiled slightly now to think how wrong she had been.

 

Six years past, her worries had centered on mind-numbing terror at what might happen to her youngest son as he went to aid his dark-haired friend. 

 

Rather than dwell on Ron, Molly’s thoughts were urged in another direction. The days after the final battle had made all past worries pale in comparison. Normally, she was the only one who kept vigil in the kitchen late at night when her family slept. But after the battle, she had been joined by George. 

 

He was a man transformed at the loss of his twin; a man empty and devoid of the spark of life she had loved so in her troublesome two. It had been physically painful to try and talk with him, and warm his tea again and again when he let it grow cold, idly stirring it. She had been at wits end, convinced that nothing would pull George away from his grief. Secretly, she feared that she would lose him to it, and be forced to bury another child.

 

Help for George came, however, from the most unexpected of sources. Because it seemed, now that he was back with his family, Percy had appointed himself to rescue his younger brother. Molly kept her theories as to why private, but she was sure it had something to do with feeling responsible for Fred’s death. She had spoken to Percy about it, and tried to dissuade him from forging a relationship with his brother based on guilt. His response had, quite simply, taken her aback in its frankness.

 

“He needs me, Mum, and Fred would have wanted it.”

 

As if that had settled the matter, Percy had moved back in with the family after the battle. It wasn’t two days before he asked George for a job. Befuddled, the depressed young man had agreed to his elder brother’s request. It was not long before he was drawn out of mourning for his twin by Percy’s business ideas and the concept of building the shop up to honor Fred’s memory. Molly’s peaceful late night refuge was over run with plots and plans. She indulged the boys and would cook late night meals for them, though she did drop her favorite baking pan to the floor with a clatter one night when for the first time since Fred’s funeral two months before, George’s genuine laughter rang through the room at a joke of Percy’s.

 

With Percy’s insane organizational abilities and George’s depths of creative genius, the two had taken the shop and transformed it into a brand that was a household name in the United Kingdom—for Wizards and Muggles alike. 

 

Molly thanked her lucky stars that Percy had come back into their lives, and marveled at the way her two boys formed an inseparable duo, although they were as oddly matched as always. But one could not deny that their new friendship did them mountains of good, both in terms of their business and in their grieving process.

 

Now there were shops scattered throughout Britain, and they were in talks to start chains in the United States as well. Each shop held a plaque and portrait of their departed brother, so they would never forget their original purpose. 

 

Molly smiled into her mug; to think that the explosions that she’d once yelled herself hoarse at the twins about had lead to an international success. . .and in part due to the brother they’d viciously named “Percival the Pompous” at one point. . . Life was sometimes too funny.

 

The five years of peace had witnessed other changes too. Most particularly in the young man she could hear making his way downstairs now. No doubt that Ronald had thought he would just nip downstairs for a snack as his family slept on. Smiling to herself about her never-wrong Mother’s intuition, Molly set the kettle on the boil and went about making her baby boy a plate of sandwiches and biscuits. She was setting it on the table when he stumbled, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen.

 

“Wuzzit? Mum, it’s near three in the morning, why are you still awake?” Voice gravelly with lack of sleep, Ron clumsily made his way to his usual seat, grinning in approval at the mounds of food in front of him. She saw a look cross his face as he opened one cautiously, and she had to repress a smile.

 

“They aren’t corned beef, Ron, so unless you’re checking for poison, tuck in. And I could ask you the same question. Any particular reason you’ve spent the evening tossing and turning in your old room?” Setting a mug of tea before him, Molly watched as her son’s ears turned a vibrant shade of red. She wrapped her dressing gown tightly around her, and gazed at him over her mug of tea, patiently waiting for his response.

 

Her eyes followed his long fingers as they pushed his hair off his forehead, and she had to bite her tongue from commenting on the length of his ginger hair. Instead, she watched her son heave a bodily sigh and look at her with his enormous blue eyes. 

 

“You know, it’s not fair that mums’ get to read their children’s moods so easily. Puts us nippers at a right disadvantage.” he flashed a half-hearted grin at her, but Molly’s steady gaze showed that she would not be deterred from discussing the topic at hand. She knew exactly what had her son’s eyes so bloodshot and sent his thoughts chasing after one another in the night—but she also knew it was his topic to bring up.

 

One by one she watched the layers of Ron’s careful mask peel back. The cheery, joking attitude he affected disappeared slowly until his Auror training abandoned him, and he became a son seeking his mother’s reassurance.

 

“Ah, Mum, I’m just so . . . It’s just that Hermione. I’ve missed her so much and now that she’s coming back. . . and what do I do if she says she won’t . . .” Molly watched her son cut off the last statement, and swallow in an attempt to clear the lump in his throat. “It’s been a year, what do I do if . . . How am I supposed to cope if she decides that I’m not the. . .” A growl of frustration stopped him short, and he practically slammed his head on the table.

 

Molly wasn’t in the least surprised that Ron’s thoughts were occupied by the young witch who had captured his heart. She had expected to have this conversation now that Hermione had written to accept Ron’s invitation to stay at the Burrow for the Christmas Holidays, and was surprised that it was the day before Christmas Eve, the very night before her arrival that he finally confessed his worries to someone. She was shocked that it wasn’t Harry, but infinitely touched that he still trusted her enough to confide these fears to her. She had thought he had long since grown past needing his mother and it was rewarding to find out this was not the case. 

 

“Ron, dear, look at me.” His blue eyes lifted to find hers, and she reached across the table to straighten his hair as she had when he was younger. Ah, when had timed robbed her of her baby and replaced him with the handsome young man before her? Taking a deep breath, she chose her next words carefully.

 

“I’ve watched you love this girl, no this woman, since you were eleven and wrote home to Ginny about the night with the troll. The two of you grew up together at that school and fell in love in a time when the world was in a very dark place. And what the two of you have together is a beautiful thing, and neither time nor distance is going to diminish her place in your heart, nor yours in hers. I know that letting her go on this assignment was harder than you let on; I know that you hate letting her out of your sight for even a brief period of time, and so does she. If you don’t think she appreciated what you did for her by letting you go, then perhaps I ought to show you something.”

 

Ron’s eyebrows shot up as he watched his mother cross over to the cupboard nearest the door. From one of its drawers she removed a stack of parchments wrapped in a sky blue ribbon. As Molly came back to the table, he caught the familiar smell of the parchment that Hermione favored. A questioning look crossed his face as Molly undid the ribbon and slid a single parchment of the stack across the table to her son. His fingers touched the pages almost reverently as he heard his mother laugh.

 

“You didn’t think that you were the only one that she was writing to, did you? That girl has spent so much time in our household that I would be offended if she didn’t send me an owl at _least_ every now and again,” she chuckled quietly to herself as Ron read through the missive she had read herself many times. 

 

She knew what it contained; updates on Hermione’s life working as a member of the team designated to formulate the latest advances in International Wizarding Law, questions into life back at the Burrow, and the telling admissions into how much she missed and loved Molly’s youngest son. Hermione was honest in all of her missives, and while Molly only let Ron see this one, she saw him sense out the common themes. His eyes grew big as he read Hermione’s words, finding in them another source of confirmation that she did truly love him.

 

Molly had purposefully given him the one where Hermione told her some of the same fears he had just voiced on this cold December night. As she watched, a determined look crossed her baby boy’s visage.

 

No, she could not think of him that way anymore, Ron had long since stopped being the baby boy of the family and had grown into one of the most dependable young men she had ever known. She nodded to his mumbled words of thanks as she accepted the letter and retied the bow. She was crossing to the cupboard to put them away when his voice stopped her. 

 

“Mum, d’you think, what I mean is . . . which jewelry store do you think is best?” Tears of joy welled into Molly’s eyes as she stopped and turned back to Ron.

 

“Why are you asking, dear?”

 

“Because I don’t want to spend another moment of my life without her.” The sentence was the most confident Molly had heard Ron on the subject. She beamed at him, and then suddenly his insecurities came rushing back. “But I don’t know anything about . . . that stuff and what if I buy the wrong size and what. . .”

 

The flush that crept up Ron’s face only made him look more endearing, and Molly blinked quickly to keep herself from crying and making him think she was upset. She set the letters down on the table, and tapped her son’s shoulder lightly, asking him to wait where he was for a moment.

 

She had walked this path many times before, down the hall to the spare linen closet. It seemed so strange to be headed there with a purpose now, rather than simply visiting the items she had stored there.

 

Her boys had never understood the need for this particular closet, given that all of the linens were shoved into closets on the other floors of the Burrow. This one, however, was special. This closet, much like the kitchen, was the domain of Molly Weasley alone. It contained hopes for the future, and remembrances of the past. A single tear caressed her cheek as she unfolded an old sweater of Fred’s, revealing the secret she had stashed there years ago. Running her hands along the familiar lines of the hidden treasure, she assured herself that now was the correct time to present this to her youngest son. She swallowed past the lump in her throat at the prospect of how grown up this made him, and walked the familiar route back to her kitchen. 

 

As Molly returned, she couldn’t help but notice the serene expression on her son’s face. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, cautiously bringing him from his reverie. He blinked at her and she placed a small wooden box in his hand, nodding for him to open it.

 

Inside was a beautiful ring, wrought with Celtic knot-work. The setting held a large sapphire that was offset by two smaller princess-cut diamonds. Ron gasped to look down at it, and Molly had to steady the back of his chair to keep him from clattering to the ground. 

 

“The tiara wasn’t the only thing your Great-Aunt owned, you know. After she saw you and Hermione at the wedding, she made me promise to keep this aside should you ever, how did she put it…be man enough to go after what you so obviously wanted.” Eyes crinkling in a huge grin, Molly found she had to continually blink to keep her vision clear. Her son sat, turning the ring delicately over and over in his hands. He gazed up at his mother and words of thanks came tumbling from his mouth, and she patted his shoulder in acceptance.

 

As she reached to clear the empty plate from the table, she heard the lid of the box close and Ron groan. She turned in worry, seeing her son go a grayish white.

 

“Dear, Ronald, whatever is the matter? Don’t you like it? You don’t have to—“

 

“No, Mum, it’s not that,” he interrupted in a shaky voice, “The ring is perfect, better than anything I could have hoped to give her. It’s just, now I’ve got to think of how to actually ask her!”

 

Beaming, Molly patted his cheek affectionately, “Oh, I am sure you’ll think of something. As for me, dear, I’m off to bed, and you should get some rest too—sleep tight!”

 

As she turned the corner and headed up the stairs to her room, Molly let the tears of pure happiness trail down her face, leaving her son the sanctuary of the kitchen that would soon become the staging ground for the coming week’s events. She could have used the place to think a bit longer, but was happy to loan it to her Ron. After all, it wasn’t everyday that a man had to decide how to propose to the most brilliant witch of his generation.

 

 

 

Ron stared blankly at the box in his hands as his mother left the kitchen. His hands ran across the lacquered panels, eyes glazed with a lack of focus. Had George or Percy been able to witness Ron’s dumbstruck face at this moment, he knew full well they would be merciless in their goodhearted teasing. It would have inevitably led to a good natured fight between the brothers, and the matter would be brushed off without further comment.

 

Not so this early morning, though. For this early morning his mother had given Ron a precious gift—the sanctuary of her kitchen. It was full of the comfort that poured off of Molly Weasley, and Ron knew that the familiarity of his surroundings contributed to the fact that he was still breathing calmly. Had he been anywhere else when he had finally made the decision to ask Hermione to marry him, he had no doubt he would have drowned his fears in panic and Firewhiskey. After all, what man wouldn’t want a little liquid courage when contemplating proposing to the woman he’d loved since they were children?

 

Groaning to himself once more at the daunting task ahead of him, Ron pulled the plate of sandwiches closer. He grabbed the nearest one and took comfort in his mother’s simple gesture of love and understanding. With the hand not holding his sandwich, he pushed the hair from his eyes and took a deep breath. Years of practice allowed him to tackle the situation with his Auror training.

 

**Step One: Analyze the strength of his current position.**

 

The familiar warmth of the kitchen seeped into him, as well as a new sensation. It became clear to Ron why his mother so often chose to center her late night thoughts in the peace of this place. And she had given space to him to work out his feelings. There was no ribbing as there would have been from George, no falsely sage and academic advice from the irrepressible Percy, no squeals of excitement like from Ginny, just silent acceptance and support. It was exactly what he needed in the face of this life changing decision. 

 

**Step Two: Analyze the moments leading up to the confrontation.**

Well, maybe “confrontation” wasn’t the right word for proposing to Hermione, though Ron had to admit the prospect terrified him more than anything he’d faced in the field so far. Shaking his head against the temptation to panic, Ron looked back on the past few weeks.

 

Since Hermione had left for her assignment a year ago, Ron had made a pointed effort to maintain steady contact with her. But in recent weeks, the owls had gone from being once or twice a week to being once or twice a day. Like his mother, he had his own collection of letters written in Hermione’s neat handwriting—though his were stuffed rather messily in one of his desk drawers. Whenever he was having a particularly awful day at work he would select one at random and be comforted by the familiarity of her words. 

 

It had been after reading one of her more touching letters one day that he had made his decision to invite her home for Christmas. It was a short letter, jotted down on just one sheet of parchment. The letter also happened to be Ron’s favorite, and he had every line memorized. Grinning, he ran through the hurriedly written text in his mind. . .

 

_Ron,_

_Here I am, meeting with some of the most important members of my field and I (now don’t be too shocked) can’t keep my focus on the task at hand! I keep having to hide smiles behind lifted notebooks as I think about your last letter. I can’t believe Ginny actually did that! Poor Harry!_

_You really can’t know how much your letters mean to me. I feel a little less homesick every time Pig pecks impatiently at my window._

_I’ll be back in Britain shortly before Christmas. I really do hope we get the chance to spend some time with one another._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

He’d read the letter while sitting at his desk at the Ministry, and hadn’t thought anything of asking her to spend Christmas with him. No, Ron hadn’t thought anything of it—until Pig had already sailed out of the window, hooting excitedly at the task of flying to the witch who gave him so many treats. Once Pig was gone, however, the nervousness set in. When she sent the response saying she couldn’t wait to visit and had signed with “Love Always, Hermione” the nervousness multiplied ten thousand fold. 

 

Ron knew he was being foolish by allowing his heart to flutter like it did whenever he thought of the letter. After all, Hermione signed her letters to Ginny and to Harry with “love.” That didn’t stop him from noticing that her letters to everyone else were far less frequent, or that the tenor of her letters to him was generally more personal, more open. It gave him hope that she might just love him as much as he loved her.

 

That had been a week ago, and now he was sitting in his mother’s kitchen in the early morning hours of her arrival day. Sipping his tea, Ron allowed his brain to move forward.

 

**Step Three: Given Step One and Step Two, Formulate a Plan of Attack and keep the end goal firmly in mind!**

 

Well, the “plan of attack” was the one thing he didn’t have at the ready. His mother had provided the ring, now he had to figure out to give it to her. While Ron was tempted to merely hand it to her with a pleading look in his eye, he knew that wouldn’t cut it. Hermione deserved something special from this moment, and he desperately wanted to give it to her. She was coming back to them all for the first time in a year, and if he was going to propose then it should be something worth of the occasion. As he contemplated all the things that were to happen on this particular Christmas Eve, an idea popped into his head. 

 

Ron burst into a grin, and allowed his brain to sort out the details. He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed; more at ease with his thoughts than he’d been the whole week of anticipating her arrival. He had a path, a goal, and he always did better when there was a thought of a reward at the end, and this would be the sweetest reward of them all—Hermione, finally his. 

 

_  
_


	2. Speed Racing Butterflies

  
Author's notes: Hermione prepares for her trip to the Burrow, but thoughts of a certain red-head have her rather distracted. . .  


* * *

Standing in the bedroom of her flat, Hermione told herself that this was _not_ that big of a deal. Glancing over the stack of clothes she had prepared to pack, she silently chided herself for the thousandth time about the butterflies speed-racing through her stomach.  
  


This was merely a trip to see the people who had become her second family. The Weasley home was a place of love, warmth, laughter and welcome; she had _no_ logical reason to feel as she did now—so anxious that her stomach was in knots. For pity’s sake, she had spent more time growing into a woman in the Burrow’s comforting warmth than in her own parents’ home! Maybe viewing this as a visit similar to the many she had made during summer holidays maybe that would help. . .  
  


****_But it’s not as if you’ve ever spent the whole of Christmas there, now is it? That’s something very different than coming for part of the summer. Something much more meaningful. . ._

__

Well, so what if she’d never been there for Christmas before, Hermione argued with herself as she restrained her hair in a messy bun. What of it? It wasn’t as if she were going to be the _only_ person outside of the family there. Harry was bound to be there as well as Neville and Luna. When you added their numbers to the Weasley family members, the Burrow was sure to be the site of a chaotic and enjoyable holiday. She would be able to reconnect with plenty of people after being gone for so long, and was sure she would find herself quite busy.  
  


****_Too busy to reconnect with the particular Weasley that invited you?_

__

Sighing, Hermione gave in to the fluttering she felt in her heart and allowed herself to think of Ron. Dropping an unfolded shirt on her bed, she walked over to the small window in her bedroom. Leaning her forehead against the cool pane, she attempted a few calming breaths before going over the momentous past year in her mind.  
  


The post the Ministry was offering her was something of which to be immensely proud. In her heart of hearts she knew that. She was the youngest witch, or wizard, to even be considered for such a position, and this particular project had been one of special interest to her ever since she had met Dobby in her fourth year at Hogwarts. It was with a great sense of accomplishment that Hermione accepted the appointment offered her by Kingsley Shacklebolt. Thus, she became the youngest member of the Ministry’s delegation to the Summit for the Ratification of the International Treatment of Magical Creatures Act. The summit was to take place in a top secret location in France, and Hermione’s excitement at the opportunity was diminished at the thought of leaving her loved ones behind.  
  


The decision to spend the year living abroad had been hard for Hermione on many levels, but the hardest part had been leaving Ron behind to pursue her own career aspirations. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have reason to believe that this might upset the delicate balance and understanding to which the two of them had come. Ron had always been slightly jealous and possessive, and though he had grown out of most of his adolescent stubbornness, it still came out occasionally in rather violent flashes. It was with great trepidation that she told him of her decision to accept the position on the UK’s delegation.  
  


A part of her had dreaded what might become of their friendship and budding relationship if she left; but she knew herself well enough to acknowledge that if she passed the opportunity over in favor of him, a selfish part of her would always blame him for it. That was not a possibility she was willing to face.  
  


Therefore, she had made the decision to inform him of her plans face to face, rather than a cursory owl much like the one she had sent to her mother and father. Hermione had invited him to her flat on Diagon Alley for dinner, and after the meal sat across the table from him avoiding his steady blue-eyed gaze. She had begun by simply telling him that she had been offered the chance to be a member of the United Kingdom’s delegation at the Summit for the Ratification of the International Treatment of Magical Creatures Act. The more she talked about how important this position was to her and how vital it could be to her career, the more she became aware of just how much it would really hurt to leave him behind. In the end, she was the one with tears clogging her throat. At a loss for words, she silently pleaded with him through her eyes to understand how much she needed and wanted this chance to make a difference.

In typical Ron fashion, he did the exact opposite of what she was expecting him to do. Instead of ranting and raving at how unfair she was being, Ron pushed himself out of his chair and came to hold her. His hands stroked her hair and back as he began telling her how proud he was of her and how amazing she would be at this new job. Hermione had cried into his shoulder then and allowed him to see how much the separation would hurt her, even if she could not find the words to say it aloud. How long he held her she never knew. What she did know was that he had stayed with her that night, holding her on the couch until she fell asleep within the strength of his arms.  
  


They had said a tearful good-bye the next day, neither comfortable enough to admit the depth of feeling between them. She had even thought a part of him must be filled with unchecked hatred for her selfishness, until he pulled her into his arms for the tenderest hug she had ever known. A part of her had ached to know she was leaving this behind, and the pain had only grown when he tilted her chin up to lay the gentlest of kisses on her lips. Tears stung her eyes as he spoke to her in a near whisper.  
  


“You go take care of the house-elves; I’ll be here when you come home.”  
  


With that promise locked in her heart and the memory of their kiss burning on her lips, Hermione journeyed to the Summit with her colleagues. The first night spent in her suite was difficult, and it took several hours to convince herself to unpack her one bag. Though there weren’t as many beads on it as when she had purchased it before the Horcrux hunt, it was still one of the most useful magical items that she owned.  
  


Thinking nothing of the action, she opened the bag and set it on her bed so she could sort out her belongs. Reaching into the first compartment, her hand brushed upon something overwhelmingly soft. Confused, she drew the item out only to find it was one of Ron’s old Christmas jumpers. Upon closer examination, she realized from the cut on the right sleeve that it was the one he had given her at Grimmauld Place when she had mentioned being cold the first night they had hidden there. Attached to the sweater was a note in Ron’s scrawling script:

_Just in case you get cold while you’re busy showing the world how brilliant you are—just try not to be too scary!_ _Ron_

__

Laughing through her tears at Ron’s old phrase for her, Hermione had immediately pulled the sweater on while breathing in his scent that lingered on the wool. His gesture of support meant the world to her, and she felt herself gear up for the challenges that lay before her.  
  


She then dove into her work to seek solace from the ache of missing him. It was not long before Hermione Granger had become known as one of the United Kingdom’s brilliant young Wizarding minds, and a skilled advocate for the rights of house elves. She took the compliments given to her graciously, and baffled everyone by refusing every date she was offered. Several famous young politicians of the Wizarding world were left tongue tied, confused to find themselves turned down so politely when they were used to women falling at their feet.  
  


Yes, at the Summit Hermione Granger was something of a mystery.

She had heard rumors that she was dating a member of the Weird Sisters, or possibly several. The things people came up with when left to their own devices. . . Now in her flat, Hermione flopped ungracefully down on her bed as she considered what had actually been going on.  
  


The truth of the matter was when she wasn’t filling her time doing research and arguing for addendums to the Act, Hermione was writing letters back home and eagerly awaiting their return.  
  


Every letter was a reminder that she had a life waiting for her back home, with people who cared about her as more than the Ministry’s new brilliant acquisition or as one of the “Golden Trio” of the Second Wizarding War. She kept a folder for each person’s letters, and the pictures they had sent her were held up with sticking charms all around the workspace of the suite she was living in.  
  


It had surprised her initially to have Mrs. Weasley respond to her letters so openly. Hermione was touched when the woman she regarded as a second mother offered her not only advice, but some simple recipes that greatly improved the quality of food she was eating.  
  


 

She had been even _more_ pleasantly surprised when Ron’s letters arrived, and always marveled over the evident amount of time and effort he put into each. She would deliberately make herself wait until she had read and responded to everyone else’s letters before starting on one of his. She always spent the longest reading and responding to Ron’s letters, and knew if she started with his she would never get through all of her correspondence.  
  


His letters represented something precious to her. There was a connection in his missives that could not be found in the letters from everyone else. And because of that, she would force herself to reserve the pleasure of reading them for last. She would wait until the very end of her long days. After work and dinner and a long shower she would pull on his jumper, set herself up in her favorite armchair with a cup of tea, and set to reading his letters.  
  


In Hermione’s mind, Ron Weasley was an expert story teller. She adored the way he would take the time to describe the events of a week in details that occasionally left her laughing out loud in the silence of her suite. He had a way of couching his encouragement so as to let her know that, while he missed her terribly, he knew the value of what she was trying to accomplish. It occurred to Hermione that such support had been the reason behind their first kiss, and she always smiled to herself when he duplicated that sentiment in his letters.  
  


While everyone else wrote in vague generalities, Ron told her detailed accounts of his every day, which often included the hilarious inner monologue he carried on while sitting through Auror Meetings at the Ministry. She had laughed for a full five minutes when he described running into “the ferret” at Gringotts and how twitchy said ferret had gotten when Ron displayed his new “Mad-Eye Moody” model Auror robes.  
  


It was from Ron that she learned of Neville and Luna’s engagement, and the way Neville had floated on air for weeks afterward. She could detect in his writing a pride in their once awkward friend’s Gryffindor courage, and a hint of jealousy at what he and Luna had found in one another.

As time went by the letters served as her foundation, and she was able to focus more clearly on the task she had come here to accomplish.  
  
Hermione’s work began to feel as if it had meaning. For the first time in her life, the people around her took her concerns about house elf welfare very seriously, especially given the example of Kreacher. Spliced in with her success at work were the constant reminders of the people waiting for her at home, most particularly Ron.  
  


Though she could not pinpoint the exact date when their letters had become more frequent, Hermione knew it had to have been somewhere around her birthday. Her colleagues from the UK had treated her to an evening dinner, and when she came home she was surprised to see Pig sleeping patiently on her window sill. Throwing her keys on the kitchen counter, Hermione hurriedly ushered the little owl in. She carried him to the couch, where he perched comfortably on the back while she undid the parcel attached to his leg.  
  


Pulling opening the wrappings, she found a single note from Ron attached to the gift box the parcel contained.

__

_Hermione,_ _I thought you might like these, considering you’ve been using yours so heavily lately. I hope I’ll see my gift again soon. . ._ _Ron_  
  
Confused, Hermione set Ron’s note down to open the actual gift box. A small “Oh” escaped her as she beheld the thoughtful gift. Ron had obviously been paying closer attention to her habits than she had realized. Not only had he gotten her a large stack of her favorite parchment from Flourish and Blotts, but he’d had it transformed into a stationary that bore her name in elegant script at the top and center of every page. In addition, he had sent her the simply gorgeous swan quill she had been admiring for _ages_.  
  


Touched more than she could possibly believe by the thoughtfulness of his gift, Hermione walked to her desk drawer to retrieve some much deserved owl treats for Pig. As the tiny owl happily feasted, Hermione took the first sheet of parchment and wrote Ron a heartfelt thank you with her new quill. She also distinctly remembered signing that letter : _“Can’t wait to hear from you, Hermione.”_

__

Over the next weeks their correspondence increased in amount rapidly, to the point where she had to live her office window open to allow Pig access to deliver Ron’s letters. Her colleagues would often stop by to ask her for lunch, only to find her engrossed in one of Ron’s tales from home, Pig sitting comfortably on the perch she had bought just for him. Even her boss noticed the change in Hermione’s mood, and commented that he was glad she had found happiness in her personal life in addition to her professional life.  
  


Then came the fateful letter that spurred Ron to invite her over for Christmas. Hermione never really knew what made her write that short note to Ron during her meeting. All she knew was that at the time she had been listening to the Head of the American group elaborate point by point upon the agreements made in the International Act for Fair Treatment of Magical Creatures. Despite her best efforts to focus, she could not get thoughts of Ron to leave her brain.  
  


Maybe it was because after years of hard work and dedication, she had managed to get rights for house elves included in this Act. The memory of how Ron’s face had looked as she set out the goals of S.P.E.W. flashed through her mind at a most inopportune moment in the meeting. Hermione was forced to turn her giggle into an awkward cough, and beg everyone’s pardon while trying to hide her blush behind her curly hair.  
  


Safe behind the protective wall of her locks, Hermione couldn’t help but beam to herself. Shaking her head slightly, she knew she had to resume a more professional demeanor if she were going to survive the meeting without any awkward questions. As unobtrusively as possible, she pulled a book and a single sheaf of parchment onto her lap. A few deep breaths later and she shook her hair away from her face in a confident, well-practiced motion.  
  


The mask of ‘Studious-Hermione’ fell easily into place over her features, and she was sure that all present thought she was diligently making note of important statements by the brassy American wizard before them. Instead, she was writing to Ron.  
  


It wasn’t the most eloquent of missives or the longest, but she could not remember the last time her quill had flown with such ease over the parchment. In those few unguarded moments in what felt like the most boring meeting she had ever sat through, Hermione simply wrote what she felt.  
  


The completed letter burned a hole in her pocket until a break in the meeting was called. She hurried back to her temporary office to discover Pig relaxing on his owl perch. He hooted exuberantly in greeting, and kept turning his eyes to the drawer in her desk where the treats were kept. Laughing, Hermione gladly spoiled the owl before fastening the letter to his leg. Pig sailed through the open window back towards Ron, and Hermione ran back to her meeting. Now that the letter was sent, her mind seemed better able to focus, and she quickly lost herself in the intricacies of international Wizarding law.  
  


It wasn’t until she got back to the suite the Ministry had provided her with that she began to worry. As she reheated left over Chinese takeaway in the microwave, uncertainty began to wash over her in waves. Hermione’s nerves had her so on edge that when Pig began to enthusiastically attack the window pane with his beak that she jumped nearly three feet in the air and whirled around, wand at the ready. At the sight of Pig’s madly flapping wings, however, she started to chuckle to herself and hurriedly opened the window. Taking Ron’s response from Pig’s leg, Hermione allowed the little owl to perch on her shoulder. She walked over to her favorite squishy armchair, and plopped down to read this new letter.  
  


She had been simply overjoyed when Ron had replied to her owl by inviting her to visit. Even now, lying on her bed in her Diagon Alley flat, she could not keep a ridiculous grin off of her face at the thought of the answer Pig had brought her. Closing her eyes, she remembered the precise phrasing of the letter they way she could recall any passage from _Hogwarts, A History_. . .  
  


_Hermione,_ _Since you’re going to be back anyway, why not spend Christmas with me at the Burrow? I’d really love to see you and I know everyone else would as well. Harry’s already said he’ll come, and Luna and Neville will be here too. Please, you really do have to come. Just write me back and let me know when I can expect you._ _And you think what Ginny did was funny when written in a letter, wait until I can tell it to you in person. If you mention Pygmy Puffs in front of Harry he still turns an AMAZING shade of red . . . Better than my ears, even!_ _Don’t feed Pig so many treats; he’s going to start to think he’s your owl at this rate!_ _Love,_ _Ron_

__

His handwriting hadn’t improved any as he had gotten older, which made her adore it all the more. She recalled how delighted she was to have him share stories of life at the Burrow with her, as if he were trying to make sure she knew all that occurred in her absence. Her stomach had given a little flip at his signature—she could not recall the last time he had signed a letter _Love, Ron_. Not only that, he had asked her to spend Christmas at the Burrow specifically with him. Her response had taken less than two minutes to write, and then it was a matter of counting down the slowly creeping days until her return.  
  


In truth, the date of her scheduled visit had snuck up on her incredibly stealthily. So much so, in fact, that she now found herself in the position of not even having everything _packed_ yet—something her usually organized self would never allow. Yet here she was, on the verge of leaving for the Burrow and her clothes were spread out all over her room, a clear display at how unsure she was of her coming visit.  
  


 

It wasn’t that she doubted her feelings for Ron. She knew she loved him, and knew she had for almost as long as she had known him. What she doubted was the ability of their closeness to go from the relative safety of letters to the out-in-the-open interaction that would come when they met face to face. Would he behave the same way with her as he wrote, telling her fantastic stories and making sure his care for her was implied in every word? Would she be able to be as honest with him face to face as she could be when she was behind a veil of parchment and ink?  
  


Groaning, she pushed the heels of her hands in her eyes to try and stop the oncoming headache. Unfortunately, a familiar popping noise in her living room drug her out of the realm of memory and back into the present. Who in Merlin’s name would be Apparating into her flat on the day of Christmas Eve?  
  


“Hermione Jean Granger? Where are you? I cannot BELIEVE you told Ron that you were coming to stay for Christmas and never made mention of it to me! I thought I was supposed to be your brother!” Hermione relaxed slightly as Harry’s voice rang through her tiny flat. Standing up, she brushed an imagined piece of lint off her shirt and walked into her hallway. She made sure to firmly close the door behind her, and in the process, was caught off guard by Harry’s bear hug.  
  


“Harry! Put me down this instant!”  
  


“Never! First you _leave_ for a **whole year** and then when you return you only tell Ron! This is highly unfair, and as such you’ll just have to put up with my enthusiastic greeting,” Harry chuckled as he set Hermione on the floor. For one moment she was tempted to scold him for coming into her flat unannounced, but decided against it when she saw the laughter dancing in his green eyes. One of her favorite things since the end of the War was to see how joyful Harry was; as if he lived each moment in celebration. Deciding that resistance to such ebullience was futile, Hermione flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, finally allowing herself to realize just how much she had missed being home.  
  


After a moment, she released him and the two made their way to the kitchen. Hermione put the kettle on while Harry leaned against the counter.  
  


“It’s quite unfair of the two of you. I can remember a time when they called us a _‘trio’_ and we kept no secrets from one another. You’re lucky Mum-Weasley let the secret out when I flooed her earlier; I never would have forgiven you if you’d shown up without telling me.” Hermione shook her head as she handed Harry a mug and scooped two spoons of sugar into her own tea.  
  


“Now, that’s not fair, I had no idea Ron hadn’t told you that he had invited me to come spend Christmas with him. . .” She got no further because Harry had started to chuckle over her flustered state.  
  


“Spend Christmas with _him_ is it? What’s he going to do, take you upstairs to that old room of his and hide you from the rest of us? Say, that’s not what you want him to d—OOF!” Hermione continued playfully punching Harry’s shoulder until the two of them had dissolved into gales of laughter. Hermione took a long drink of her tea before turning the tables on Harry.  
  


“Now, wait a minute, even if you knew I’d be home, why on earth didn’t you just send an owl or Floo me so that we could meet like normal people?” She tried to maintain the serious look she used to give the boys while they were in school, but her grin probably spoiled it.  
  


“Well, that’s simple; I came by to see if you’d like to come with me over to the Burrow right now? Knowing you, everything’s already packed and set to go,” Harry raised an eyebrow at the unexpected flush that crawled over Hermione’s features. “What, you can’t mean to tell me you’re not through packing?”  
  


“It’s not that . . . I just have to finish wrapping the rest of the Christmas presents before I’ll be ready to go. Why don’t you go ahead without me and I’ll be there shortly?” Hermione prayed that Harry would buy her feeble excuse and not point out the stack of wrapped presents on the table in her living room. Instead, he merely raised his eyebrows and bent forward to kiss her cheek.  
  


“All right, I’ll just head along first, shall I? Oh, and Hermione, if it helps to know, he’s just as nervous as you are.” With that last statement, and a cheeky grin, Harry Potter Disapparated with a loud pop.  
  


The funny thing was, knowing that Ron cared as much about their reunion as she did really _did_ help Hermione focus. Smiling to herself, she allowed the butterflies to speed-race through her stomach, holding out hope for what her reunion with Ron would bring.


	3. Chapter 3 - Christmas Eve Chaos

  
Author's notes: _TQP Admin Note: This is a NEW Chapter 3 which the author requested to be added in on 5 March._  


* * *

The loud ‘pop’ that accompanied Harry’s Apparation startled a bull frog off of his lily pad and into the murky green waters that constituted the Burrow’s ‘garden pond.’ Harry could not help but laugh aloud as the dejected creature climbed out of the water. 

An easy smile graced his features as he allowed his gaze to encompass the haphazard structure of the Burrow. This was the place that felt the most like home to Harry, the place the symbolized what was good and right about the world. It had held a special place in his heart ever since the first time Ron had brought him here in a flying car. Now, some eleven years later, he was unsurprised at the familiar warmth filling him as he looked upon the old building.

“And now, let the games begin.” Harry slid his father’s invisibility cloak out of his pocket before sweeping it around him with a dramatic twirl. Using all of his Auror training in stealth, he crept up to the back door of the Burrow, managed to open it without the tell-tale squeak of hinges and made his way inside the comfortable and familiar sitting room. 

His target didn’t seem to notice when he crossed the room toward the warmth of the kitchen, she was engrossed in her latest Holiday cooking task. Using a trick he’d learned from a Muggle, Harry threw his voice so that it sounded as if he were coming up the front steps. 

“Hullo! Can someone get the door; I’m drowning under heaps of gifts!” Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud as Molly Weasley jumped in reaction to his call. Muttering a spell that continued her careful work of icing her gingerbread masterpiece, she began to bustle over to the entryway. Harry cut her off midway, sweeping off his cloak and pulling her into a tight hug with a grace that was reminiscent of his days as a Seeker. He heard Molly’s laugh of surprise before she returned the hug with earnest.

“Harry James Potter, that is completely unfair of you startling an old woman like that! One of these days you’re going to pull a stunt like this and I’m just going to faint dead away. And if you think you’re sneaky young man, I have the pleasure of informing you that you are _wrong_. You’ve been at the Burrow no more than five minutes I’d suspect.” At Harry’s raised eyebrow she pointed over his shoulder to a familiar Weasley family object. “Consider it an early Christmas present, dear. I’ve been meaning to do it for years...”

Molly’s voice trailed off as she watched Harry walk over to the family clock, disbelieving. He pushed his nose against the glass, backed away and took his glasses off to polish them. Resetting them on his face, Molly bit her lip, awaiting his reaction. A breath of wonderment escaped Harry, followed by a huge grin and tears of joy lining his cheeks. 

There, before him, on the infamous Weasley family clock were two new hands. One was inscribed with Hermione’s name, and the other—though he was having trouble actually believing it—held his own. Harry turned to Mrs. Weasley to thank her, and being unable to find the words he wanted to describe how much this gift meant to him he scooped her up once again into a vicious bear hug. Spinning her around a few times, he finally set her down to tell the sole mother figure he had in his life how thankful he was.

“Oh Mum-Weasley, I don’t think anyone has _ever_ given me something more wonderful. It just . . . truly, I don’t know what to say!” Harry’s bottle-green eyes shone with gratitude, even if he did have to keep blinking back tears. Molly gently reached up and patted his cheek before wiping at her own eyes with a flour-free corner of her apron.

“Well, dear, I’ve been meaning to do it for years, and given that this year is something of an anniversary, I’d decided I’d put it off long enough. I know Ron looks at you like another brother and you’ve been so wonderful to our family. . . Although I would be willing to bet that my daughter’s feelings for you aren’t all together like those expected from a younger sister.” Molly tried in vain to keep a serious expression on her face, but was thwarted when Harry threw his head back in laughter. Her own eyes crinkled in a wide grin as she reflected on the man standing before her.

Of all the things she had expected to occur after the Final Battle, Harry’s sense of joy was not one of them. Being the least expected gift, it was one of the greatest, as was often the case in such matters. He had gone from a brooding young man with the fate of the world on his shoulders to someone who sought out joy in every situation. Molly welcomed the change and credited him with helping her own family through the dark days that followed the end of the war. 

Recovered from his fit of laughter, Harry ran a hand through his shaggy black hair, chuckling to himself. “Now come on then, Mum-Weasley, it’d be a bit odd if my fiancée thought of me as an older brother. I mean, I know the rest of you already thought of me as a member of the Weasley clan. Come to think of it, maybe _that’s_ the reason Ron hauled off and gave me a black eye when we announced our engagement!” The last had been said with a teasing note, as it was common family knowledge that the black eye had been an accident. Ron had been in a rush to be the first to congratulate the couple, and in his tumbling hurry and planted the fist holding his biscuit smack onto Harry’s eye.

“Did you ever consider, Mr. Potter, that my darling brother was just defending my honor? Honestly, had I _known_ about your penchant for sneaking into the house to scare my mother, I don’t think I’d have agreed to marry you.” Ginny stood on the bottom of the stairway, her right hand on her hip and head cocked to the side. Her red hair fell nearly to her waist, free of its normal constricting braid, and Harry longed to run his fingers through it. Molly rolled her eyes at her daughter’s ‘put upon face’, knowing full well she was trying to get Harry’s attention. Chuckling to herself at the actions of young people in love, Molly resumed decorating.

Harry whirled around and strode over to the staircase, grabbing his fiancée’s hand and pulling her into the sitting room. Before she could utter a word of protest, he had pulled Ginny into his arms. After a week of training the latest batch of new recruits from Hogwarts, Harry was tired of spending all his time with other Aurors. It felt ridiculous that he had only been away from Ginny for seven days, but heedless of that foolishness he allowed himself to spend he spent a moment luxuriating in the feel of finally having her next to him. He ran his fingers slowly through her hair, and cut off the next part of her ‘lecture’ by giving her a proper kiss hello. He felt her body relax into his as she returned his kiss, lacing her fingers through his hair. A slight groan escaped his throat and he pulled her tighter too him, scarcely believing that he had actually been brave enough to ask her to finally be his, that she had accepted, or that such happiness was even capable in this world. He desperately wanted to deepen the kiss, to just hold her against him like this and get lost in the love he felt for her. He felt, as well as heard, her breathless sigh against his lips, and nearly lost his will to behave, despite the fact they were standing in the middle of the sitting room where he had spent so many happy moments of his childhood.

She broke the kiss and the two of them spent a long moment just looking at one another, silently communicating the love that had flowered between them over the past five years. Harry allowed his eyes to roam over her face before going back to her warm brown eyes. His breath caught in his throat at the love and devotion he found shining there, as well as the mischief. It was most definitely true that Ginny shared more than the set of her jaw with the twins: she also had their quick wit.

“One would think, Mr. Potter, that if you were going to steal into the house to see anyone, it would be your fiancé and not your future mother-in-law.” A cheeky eyebrow arched delicately as Ginny smiled winningly at him, and Harry felt his stomach do a happy flip.

The two of them were so absorbed in their own world that Harry didn’t notice that Charlie Weasley had burst through the backdoor until the hardy dragon-tamer threw an arm around his shoulder. “Well, Ginny, I know you forget it sometimes, but you _do_ have five brothers who would throttle him if he so much as tried!” Charlie pulled Harry into a hug and laughed as his sister’s face turned a brilliant shade of crimson in her frustration at her family’s typical overprotective nature.

Charlie was followed in by Bill, who cut off his sister’s impending tirade with a deep chuckle. “Honestly Gin, I don’t know why you still react when he says things like that. He’s only doing it to get a rise out of you. One would think you were having less than pure thoughts about young Mr. Potter.”

Harry laughed at the good natured teasing, as well as Ginny’s predicament. Having successfully dodged one of her rants, Charlie had grabbed his sister into a bone crushing hug before throwing her unceremoniously over his shoulder. Ginny squealed, somewhere between irritation and glee, as her brother spun her around the room like he had when she was a toddler. Their antics gave him the ability to give a brotherly hug to Bill and ask about Fleur and Victoirie. He hadn’t even minded the mild teasing, having received much worse at the hands of the Weasley brothers.

Charlie only set Ginny down when the top of a pine tree began gliding through the back door. Rushing over to help guide it on its path, Harry heard him mutter something under his breath about ‘Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee’ not being able to wait for anyone else’s help.

Charlie barked orders to his younger brother through the mass of branches, “OI! PERCY! GEORGE! I really hope you shrank the tree so that it’ll fit through the damn door!” 

Harry had to bite his tongue from laughing as branch after branch of the tree pushed through the door. It was quite obvious Percy and George had charmed it to enlarge as it came through the doorway, forcing Charlie to move backward from the oncoming branches until he was nearly pinned against a bookshelf. A duet of laughter could be heard from the two wizards who were now maneuvering the tree to where it would serve as the featured decoration of the sitting room. Harry smiled to see George and Percy laughing to one another over their cleverness.

“Really now, Charlie, you work with Hungarian Horntails, I think a simple thing like a Christmas tree wouldn’t be too much for you to handle.” George feigned innocence as he spread his hands before him.

“Now then, dear George, perhaps brother Charlie here has some kind of horrible allergy to pine sap that causes him to break out in painful, disfiguring pustules . . .” Percy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in sympathy with his brother’s probable allergy.

“Not painful, disfiguring pustules! That would keep him from snogging that lovely girl of his! Do you think she’d go for another Weasley instead, just to help her through her grief, you mind.” George had to duck behind his father’s old leather chair to keep Charlie from throttling him, as the other members of the family laughed uproariously at the idea. Charlie eventually caught George in a headlock and was reacquainting him with the concept of ‘knuckle-bumps’ on his head, all the while grinning at his younger brother’s joke.

Harry was grateful to see the Weasley clan in high spirits this evening; he had worried that the milestone holiday without Fred would have everyone feeling rather morose and solemn. Instead, they seemed to be celebrating much the way their lost loved one would have wanted; of that Harry was confident. He put an arm around Ginny’s waist and pulled her closer to him, glad to be here with his family.

Percy had somehow managed to avoid the attack and went to the kitchen, where sibling battles were not permitted. Leaning over to kiss his mother’s cheek, he began to admire her handiwork loudly.

“Mother, I do believe this is your finest gingerbread creation yet,” as he praised her work, Percy managed to nick a bit of homemade icing out of the bowl. Harry had to laugh as Molly rapped her wooden spoon across Percy’s hands as if he were a child. His future mother-in-law was blushing at the compliment, and apparently needed to draw attention from that fact. Harry looked down at Ginny, recalling the number of times she had emulated her mother’s behavior in such a manner. Ginny caught him gazing down at her, and used it as an excuse to give his cheek a quick kiss.

“You haven’t even seen what she’s making yet this year, have you, Harry? It’s absolutely beautiful,” Ginny took his hand and tugged him back toward the kitchen and her mother’s labors. There on the kitchen table was a recreation of the Burrow in gingerbread, to include a collection of gnomes made from icing enchanted to wander around in the confectionary’s garden.

Though it was one of the newer Weasley family Christmas traditions, Molly’s ‘gingerbread house’ was one of Harry’s favorites. In truth, such a mediocre term as gingerbread house did not cover the brilliant creations Molly made each year. She had begun it to celebrate the growth she saw in every family member, and to provide something that they could remember as being apart from their lost love ones. Past creations had included scale models of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, the Holyhead Harpies’ stadium and even a working miniature of the restored fountain in the Ministry of Magic.

Molly had always kept the subjects of her work vaguely impersonal, a fact that seemed to be changing this year. Lovingly constructed, the miniature version of the Burrow looked like something from a child’s pop up book, charming and full of the same love that surrounded them here. The shadow of what was supposed to be a ghoul crossed the attic window, and the window to Fred and George’s former room occasionally opened to emit a puff of sugary smoke. Molly had not spared any details in her creation, down to the stack of ‘old’ boots she had constructed out of what appeared to be licorice. It was a loving and honest look at the home of the Weasleys, and it was one of the most gorgeous things Harry had ever seen. He did not miss the tear-filled look George gave his mother once he saw the inclusion of his twin’s memorial in the confectionary, or the tears that ran silently down Charlie’s face. Only Ginny seemed to be able to say what they were all thinking.

“It’s perfect, Mum.”

Molly Weasley stopped twisting her apron between her hands, and drew in a deep breath. Looking at her assembled children, she gave a tearful smile and said, “It was time.”

A brief moment of solemnity passed, only to be interrupted by George nicking some of the uncooked gingerbread from the dough, which didn’t escape Molly’s notice. She grabbed her spoon to discipline her son, but decided instead to pull him in to a fierce hug. What followed was another round of Weasley laughter and familial hugs, and Harry felt completely at home surrounded by the members of his family.

Well, almost.

Looking around the room Harry realized that there was one rather important member of the family missing, one he had known since his first ride on the Hogwarts Express. As the rest of the Weasleys resumed lovingly teasing each other and stealing food from their mother’s kitchen, Harry gestured Ginny over to him. She leaned against him comfortably, and he kissed the top of her head before speaking again.

“Any particular reason Ron’s no where to be found?” To his surprise, Ginny burst into a fit of giggles and was accompanied in this by her mother. From their smiles, Harry knew something was up, but he couldn’t seem to get a word in between their fits of laughter.

“All right, what have you all done to my best mate? Percy, George, if you’ve tested a new product on him, I swear. . .” Harry was only half-teasing, knowing full well that Ron got used as a guinea pig for their experiments. He knew Ron allowed it to happen because it reminded him of when Fred had pushed George to do the same thing, but it tended to get a bit out of hand. He figured it must be something really good to send both Ginny and her mother into hysterics, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his fiancé.

“Ron…Ron’s upstairs in his room.” Another girlish giggle—one entirely unusual for this woman—escaped Ginny. “If you want to know what it’s all about, you should probably go ask him, I imagine you’re the only male he’ll speak to about it.”

Harry must have sent a confused look at the assembled Weasley brothers, who all made exasperated faces. A raised eyebrow in Percy’s direction got Harry only one response.

“It’s the bloody secret of the day, Harry. These two know something’s up and they’ve been tittering about it on and off all day. And what’s worse, they won’t even _share_ the fun.” A mischievous twinkle lit Percy’s eye as he shared mock looks of hurt with George.

“Ah, wise older brother, I wish I knew the cause of their betrayal to the family. This must be something that would allow us to take the mickey out on Ron like never before. D’ya think it might have something to do with Pygmy Puffs?” George’s innocent expression only contributed to the laughter that exploded in the room as Harry’s face turned bright pink.

“Right then, I’ll just go see what Ron’s on about, shall I?” With that, Harry tried to save as much face as possible as he ran up the stairs, nearly tripping over himself in the process. Damn Percy and damn George! They always knew what to say to get him going. And if he really wanted to get down to it, this was all Ginny’s fault for insisting on telling _that_ story to her family. . .

Harry was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he walked right into Ron’s room without even knocking. One glance at his best friend, and Harry understood the situation fully. How could he not? There, on the bed that was significantly too short for him and in the room the vibrant orange of his beloved Canons, sat Ronald Weasley with a contemplative look in his eyes. The source of his consternation was all too apparent to Harry, who had already noticed the item Ron was turning over and over in his hands—a ring!

Trying hard to contain his enthusiasm, Harry flopped down on an old bean bag and sought Ron’s gaze, “Hey, mate.”

“Hey.” Ron’s only reaction to Harry’s arrival was a quick cursory glance at his friend and a slight head jerk. Harry gazed at his best friend expectantly, silently refusing to be the one to mention the ring in Ron’s hand.

A shuddering breath escaped Ron, and he placed the ring back in a wooden box. Harry watched his friend run his fingers through his hair before flopping back onto his bed.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Harry. What if she,” with seeming urgency Ron sat up at full attention. “Harry, what do I do if she’s fallen in love with some diplomat?”

Harry leaned forward and placed his forearms on his knees, unbelieving how self-doubting Ron truly was. “Ron, did she ever mention seeing anyone in her letters?”

“Well, no but—” Harry cut off his friend with a look. The blue eyes met the green over the clutter of the room, communicating in the way that only truly best friends can. After a moment, Harry could see the tension fall away from Ron’s shoulders, and his look of terror was replaced with one of anticipation.

“Do you want to see it, then?” Without waiting for a response, Ron stretched his long arm across the tiny room and handed Harry the box. Harry watched his best friend’s face—the rawness of the emotion he found there refreshing in its honesty.

Opening the box with something bordering on reverence, Harry gazed down at the ring that would _finally_ bring his two best friends together. It seemed such a delicate thing to represent what the two of them had, but Harry knew it was perfect. Hermione would love it, both for its beauty, and the ring’s history that Ron was now telling him. As Ron trailed off into silence, Harry looked up at him and flashed him a brilliant

“Ron, mate, this is absolutely stunning, and she’s going to love it. When are you going to ask her?"

“Tonight.” Harry jumped in surprise at the confidence and purpose that filled Ron’s voice. The only other time he’d seen his best friend like this was at work, and then, only on assignments that were of great importance to the red-head. Even if he knew nothing else about Ron and Hermione’s history, the look on Ron’s face at that moment would have been enough to know how much Ron cared for their bushy-haired friend. 

With a snap, Harry placed the ring back in its box and walked it over to Ron. As he lay the box in Ron’s waiting hands, he took the time to catch Ron’s gaze and said with surprising seriousness, “I’ve known you for almost twelve years, mate, and this is the best bloody idea you’ve ever had. It may be enough that I’ll forgive you for telling the family about the damn Pygmy Puffs mess. But hey, at least Hermione doesn’t know. . .” Harry’s words trailed off as a lop-sided grin came over Ron’s face and his ears turned a slight shade of pink. Ron put the box away in his nightstand before giving Harry a guilty look and laugh.

“You…you PRAT! I can not _believe_ you told her about that!” Harry, laughing, tossed a pillow at Ron’s face only to have it sail back and nail him straight in the nose.

“It is not _my_ fault that you decided to marry the woman who got the better of you, big time. And how was I supposed to _not_ tell her—she’d be bound to ask and figure it out on her own. OI! That was my eye, you cheeky bugger!” The two broke off in a friendly wrestling match, and didn’t notice when the door opened and someone else entered the room.

That is, they didn’t notice until a familiar laugh filled the room and another familiar ball of ginger fur jumped onto Ron’s bed to curl up on his pillow. Immediately the play-fight came to a halt, and Ron straightened nervously, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. Hermione was biting her lower lip in laughter, and her fingers twisted together slightly nervously.

Harry suddenly realized that he could be wearing nothing but Dobby’s tea cozy and the two of them wouldn’t even stop to laugh. He watched as blue eyes met chocolate ones, seeing the depth of love between the two of them. In actuality, he was hardly surprised when Ron crossed the room in one stride and pulled Hermione into a deep kiss. The two of them come together completely naturally, and Harry was left shaking his head.

“It’s the bloody Room of Requirement all over again,” he muttered, slipping past the two of them, and shutting the door gently behind him.

 

*~* 


	4. Chapter 4 - The Kiss

*~* 

_That laugh._  
  
It was a sound permanently etched in his memory. For Ron, it did not matter that it had been over a year since he had heard it, his heart still skipped at the sound.  
  
Disentangling himself from Harry, Ron reflexively tried to smooth his hair. He allowed his eyes to linger over her as he attempted to memorize every detail about her appearance at this moment. He drank in the way her simple outfit accentuated her figure without broadcasting its merits to the world. In this moment the red jumper and jeans she wore was the most beautiful set of clothes he had ever seen her in.   
  
It topped the dress robes she had worn fourth year to the Yule Ball, the ensemble she had worn so naturally at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and most certainly, her official Ministry uniform. He paused to realize that it was because Hermione had never appeared completely at ease in those outfits. Here, at this moment, she was simply Hermione, and he loved her. The realization caused a lop-sided grin to spread over his face.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
 _That grin._  
  
It was a grin that had caused Hermione no end of grief in the years she had known Ron. Originally, it had been a source of confusion at how flustered such a simple action could make her, progressed to fear of unrequited feelings, and now…now it meant something completely different.   
  
She hadn’t expected to find Ron being so typically Ron with Harry, undoubtedly arguing over some silly story likely to do with Quidditch. As she had walked into the room the scene before her had caused every happy memory she had with these two men to flash before her brain, and she had been unable to hide her mirth. It had been one of the happiest moments she’d had in the past year.  
  
And then he turned _that_ grin on her. The grin that now held all the hope and promise that had been couched in their owls to one another. In that instant, she knew all her worries about their first face to face meeting had been foolish, this was Ron and she loved him. She forced herself to stop fidgeting with her fingers long enough to push an unruly curl behind her ear, sending him a shy smile.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
 _  
That hair._  
  
His eyes hungrily followed the hand she used to push a chestnut curl behind her ear. He adored the fact that she had worn her hair down, rather than in the orderly plait or bun she preferred for work. Hermione’s curls were now falling freely, framing her face elegantly as they cascaded down to the middle of her back.  
  
Did she have any idea how long he’d wanted to simply reach out and thread his fingers through her hair? The few times he had been able to were burned in his memory; the softness of her curls defying their occasional frizzy nature. Her hair always had the distinct smell of lily of the valley from the shampoo she used. He’d never admitted it to anyone, but when Slughorn had brought out the Amortentia on the first day of sixth year Hermione’s shampoo was _definitely_ on the list of things he had smelled.   
  
Almost subconsciously, Ron felt his body take the step needed to get closer to her, a determined twinkle in his eye.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
 _That look._  
  
Hermione had only ever seen that look on Ron’s face when he was after something he really wanted, be it during a chess match or before heading out to the school’s Quidditch pitch. Was he really looking at her that way? She could hardly find time to answer her mind’s question before she was drowning in the blue of his eyes. So full of life and passion, Hermione realized her breath was coming faster as he neared her, and out of bit her bottom lip once more to disguise her nervous laughter.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
 _That mouth.  
_  
Ron made a small growling nose as he watched her bite her lip once more and saw her nose crinkle in nervous laughter. It was such a Hermione thing to do, a movement that was so quintessentially her that he knew what he had to do next. Not caring if it was right or wrong, and not worrying about the consequences of his actions, Ron put a trembling hand around her waist and pulled her to him. His other hand rose up to cup her cheek, seemingly on its own, bending down gently, his mind was almost surprised to find that he was kissing her.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
In that moment, Ron and Hermione ceased having separate thoughts. All that mattered was the fact that after a year of waiting and shared confidences, the moment they had both secretly hoped for had arrived.   
  
It. Was. Perfect.  
  
Gone were the insecurities they felt about themselves, only to be replaced with the utter certainty that _this_ , this incredible thing between them, was right. Hermione sighed contentedly against Ron’s lips and relaxed her body into his arms; she…no they were a perfect fit.   
  
His tongue gently grazed her bottom lip, seeking permission to deepen the kiss which she readily granted. She allowed her hands to play along his shoulders, heady with the emotions that were coursing through her weak-kneed body. He moaned softly in the back of his throat, finally able to do what he’d been dreaming about for months as their tongues danced against one another.   
  
Distantly they heard the door shut, but what did that matter when they had finally found each other after all of these years?  
  
“Ron! Hermione! It’s almost time to trim the tree and we can’t start without the two of you. Come on!”  
  
It wasn’t until Ginny excitedly called to them that they broke apart. Hermione gazed up at Ron shyly through her eyelashes, only to find him looking at her with such love she thought her heart might burst. A flush crept up her face and she leaned her head against his chest as she gathered his warmth close to her for a much needed embrace. Resting his chin on the top of her head, Ron allowed himself to relax and catch both his breath and courage before speaking.  
  
“Missed you, ‘Mione.”  
  
Tears welled in her eyes at the tenderness that filled his voice, blinking them back she responded in a voice barely over a whisper, “Missed you too, Ronald.”  
  
He pulled back enough in her embrace to look her in the eyes. Finding his courage once more he spoke the words he’d been longing to say for ages.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Hermione noticed the way his voice hitched in raw emotion and allowed the tears of joy to slide down her face as she responded with a heartfelt, “I love you, too.”   
  
Instinctually, they pulled back together and Ron laid a single, chaste kiss on her upturned face. The pure joy she saw etched in his smile made her giggle as she wiped her eyes.  
  
“I knew, you know.” The damnable lop-sided grin was back when Hermione turned up to look at him inquiringly.  
  
“Knew what, exactly?”  
  
“That you loved me.” Ron was now practically preening and strutting before her, and Hermione couldn’t help but allow the laughter bubbling inside her to escape once more.  
  
“Prat!” She stuck her tongue out at him and made as if to leave, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her into another kiss. She briefly fought against him, smacking his chest with her palms. Eventually, he pulled back, but just enough to whisper against her mouth.  
  
“And you love me for it, book-worm.”   
  
A part of Hermione’s heart melted as she kissed him fiercely. Things might have gotten more out of hand were it not for George’s impatient roar from downstairs.  
  
“Bloody hell, you two! Dad’s home and I want to get the tree, that I so painstakingly selected, decorated! Your reunion can go on hold for this, I reckon!” Hermione flushed a brilliant red as Ron held her and laughed. He gave her a brief peck on the cheek before opening the door for her, promising to join her momentarily.   
  
As the door closed to his room, Ron silently walked over to his nightstand and opened the drawer. He muttered a spell over the lacquered box and then transferred the item into his pocket easily. Grinning to himself as he headed down the Burrow stairs, Ron had a suspicion that he was about to get everything he had ever wanted.  



	5. Chapter 5 - The Proposal

_Focus,_ Hermione thought to herself as she took a calming breath. She knew she had to get her head out of the clouds before she joined the amassed Weasley clan for the tree trimming festivities. There would be plenty of time later to analyze what had just occurred between her and Ron. She would be able to dissect and engrave each individual moment in her heart when she was in the solitude of her bed. She attempted a futile smoothing of her hair with her hands, a nervous habit that she could never escape. Gathering her courage, Hermione took the final few steps down the stairs and headed into the sitting room.

A small gasp of surprise escaped Hermione as she looked at the scene that lay before her. It was as if someone had brought one of her favorite childhood Christmas books to life. She felt her brain switch into observation mode, and willingly went along with her natural inclination, albeit in a haze of emotion and excitement.

The tree stood proudly in the center of the room as George and Percy placed tinsel on the branches. A smile spread across Hermione’s face as she watched them take different approaches to the task. Where George was tossing clumps of tinsel haphazardly onto the tree and laughing as it fell like snowflakes, Percy was laying the tinsel on with deliberate care—one strand at a time. For all of their newfound friendship and partnership, it was comforting to see that in some ways the brothers were as different as ever.

Ginny was straightening the ten stockings that hung above the cheerily cracking fireplace. As Hermione’s eyes passed over the hand-knitted stockings, she was touched to see that two had been made, one for her and for Harry, as well. It was little things like this that made her love Ron’s family so, they always made sure that she and Harry were included, especially Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione’s eyes glanced over the buffet set up near the back wall of the sitting room and bit back a chuckle. If there was one thing Molly Weasley did better than make people feel welcome, it was to ensure that they were well fed. The aging buffet seemed to bow under the weight of the Christmas Eve feast prepared by the Weasley matriarch. Foods both savory and sweet tempted the palate, and Hermione could not help but envy the skill present in every dish.

Aside from the buffet, Mrs. Weasley’s edible Burrow was displayed prominently on a large table next to the Wireless. Hermione could not help but admire the detailed work of the confectionary. The enchanted gnomes were dancing to the Christmas song playing on the wireless. She giggled when she recognized the tune of the song “Twelve Days of Christmas,” she hadn’t realized that it played in the Wizarding world as well.

Mrs. Weasley was the first one to realize that Hermione had entered the room, and came around the couch to give her a hug. Hermione felt a sense of homecoming as the plump older woman’s arms surrounded her. Mrs. Weasley began to pull her towards the old Weasley clock, but Hermione hardly heard what she said having been distracted by the red and gold Christmas globes that Charlie and Bill were putting on the tree. It seemed that house loyalty was something the Weasleys carried out long after their Hogwarts days were behind them, and Hermione took comfort in that fact.

“Hermione, dear, have you heard a word I’ve said? Where is your mind, dear girl?” Mrs. Weasley’s amused tone brought Hermione back to the present and she had the grace to flush in embarrassment. For some reason she could not get her thoughts to stay in their normal focused pattern tonight, she really did need to sharpen up.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but I was just admiring your choice in color for the Christmas globes.” Mrs. Weasley’s smile broadened at that, and she gently turned Hermione to face the clock.

“Yes well, it’s been a tradition since Arthur and I got married. Now then, as I was saying, I showed Harry this earlier today, and didn’t think it right that you’d not seen it.”

Hermione’s eyes traced the familiar lines of the Weasley clock, trying to determine what Mrs. Weasley was trying to show her. It wasn’t until she looked at the collection of hands pointed to ‘home’ that she realized what it was. Elegant script flowed over one of the hands detailing her name with a flourish. There it was; her name on the object that marked her as a member of the Weasley family. Swallowing past a lump in her throat, she felt her heart swell with emotion.

“Oh, Mrs. Weasley. . .” Hermione got no further as the enveloped her in another hug.

“Now, now, no thanks are necessary; I really have been meaning to do it for years. But I thought that this year being an anniversary and all, well, it was time. And really dear, you must stop with this Mrs. Weasley nonsense. You can call me Molly, you know.”

Wiping unshed tears from her eyes with the corner of her jacket, Hermione shook her head defiantly. “No, you know that I can’t. You’ve been so wonderful to me ever since I first came to your household, calling you by your first name would seem too disrespectful to me. But you are right; Mrs. Weasley does seem too formal at this point. Would you mind if I called you Mum-Weasley, like Harry does?” Hermione bit her lower lip, hoping she hadn’t offended the woman who had been practically a mother to her over the years.

When Mrs. Weasley’s—no, Mum-Weasley from now on, she silently chided herself—first reaction was to pull Hermione into a bone crushing hug, the young woman knew she had not overstepped her bounds. Taking comfort in the love that was so freely offered, Hermione could not remove the grin on her face as Molly guided her back to the sitting room.

By this time, Ron had joined the rest of the family and was lounging lazily on the couch. At the approach of his mother and Hermione, a look of shock and—wait, was that apprehension?—crossed his features. He cast a questioning look at his mother before arching an eyebrow at Hermione in curiosity. Hermione just smiled and shook her head before crossing to sit on the floor between his knees. She leaned her head against his right leg and sighed contentedly when Ron gave her left shoulder a gentle squeeze.

She noticed the smile the interaction between she and Ron generated on Harry’s face, but merely stuck her tongue out him childishly before mouthing the words ‘Pygmy Puffs.’ When Harry flushed a brilliant scarlet, she threw back her head and laughed aloud, feeling more joyful than she could remember being in months.

Opening her eyes, she saw Ron staring down at her with a look in his eyes for which she didn’t even have words. She tittered nervously at the odd image this created in her head—little Miss Know-It-All, speechless, and all to do with a certain red-headed prat, who would have thought it possible? Unsure of whether or not to give in to her desire to pull his face to hers and kiss him, she settled to wink at him coyly before sitting back up. What on earth had gotten in to her tonight?

Of course, she knew the answer before she’d even finished asking the question. It was the whole day that had her feeling so giddy. Between the wonderful Christmas celebrations, the love she felt surrounding her from her adopted family, and the emotional reunion with Ron, she was feeling light-hearted and worry free. She gave brief pause to the consideration that perhaps she was making too much of what had occurred between her and Ron. These worrisome thoughts were banished when Ron casually played with her hair, twirling the curls around his long fingers.

A part of her was shocked at how easily these little signs of intimacy came to them. After all, they had spent a year apart and even before that their relationship had never really had the chance to take root. What with his Auror training and all of the time she had spent at the Ministry trying to prove her worth as more than a war hero and member of the “Golden Trio,” they hadn’t had time. It was something that Hermione had always slightly regretted, wishing that they had lived those first few years after Hogwarts to the fullest rather than cram them full of ‘normalcy.’

But then, maybe they hadn’t been ready for what was between the two of them. Would she have been able to allow herself happiness when so many others were left deeply grieved by the tragedies that had occurred in the war? No, and she didn’t suppose Ron could have either. If they weren’t ready then, what was it that made them ready now? A frown of concentration crossed her features, as she pondered the thought.

Leaning her head back to glance at Ron, she noticed he was looking at her again, the heart-flip inducing lopsided grin on his features. As she gazed into his blue eyes and counted the freckles that crossed his nose, she realized she didn’t need an answer to her last question. At least, not one relayed in the specific detail she so craved in her working life.

What she knew was that both she and Ron had grown an awful lot in the past five years, and apparently what they had never been able to communicate in person had come out clearly in ink and parchment messages. The gap that had separated them for so long was finally closed, and rather than bicker because they were fearful of what the other thought of them, they could share little moments like this.

Satisfied with her conclusions, Hermione picked her head up only to lean it against Ron’s knee once more, her arm forming a cushion. With hardly a thought, her free hand traced circles lazily up and down his leg. What a truly wonderful Christmas this was turning out to be; she could think of nothing else in the world she wanted.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Ron was sure if Hermione had any inclination the sparks she was setting off inside him with just the gentle touch of her fingers she would laugh aloud. He could not seem to get the grin off his features after she had sat down before him so comfortably. And who could blame him, when he had the witch that he had wanted for so long reclining next to him as easily as if they had spent the past five years together, rather than separated for one reason or another. He cursed the time he had wasted focusing on work and getting life to make sense after the war rather than treasuring her every single moment.

Winding his fingers through one of her curls, he realized that was an unfair thought. Whether or not they had been together hadn’t changed the fact that he treasured her, loved her above everything else. They had been through too much together for it to be otherwise. And after the rather intense reunion they had shared earlier, he could no longer doubt that she felt the same about him.

Now if only we could get on with this evening. Ron cast a furtive glance at Ginny, as if to ask when she thought things were finally going to get under way. Years of being the youngest siblings paid off, and Ginny caught his meaning, jerking her head to their father’s easy chair. Ron noticed that his dad was currently levitating a stack of seven boxes into the room, a smile on his face the entire time. A sense of relief flooded through Ron’s system, with the beginning of this tradition the night truly started for him.

Ginny caught his eye from where she was curled up with Harry on the love seat. His baby sister sent him an encouraging smile, and Ron was once again glad he had trusted her to be a part of his plan.

The Auror training that had kept him calm when the boxes first appeared was almost thwarted when Hermione looked over her shoulder at him, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“How does that charm go again, Ron?”

Laughter filled the room as Ron deliberately enunciated the incantation, and with a practiced ‘swish and flick’ of his wand levitated a glass of egg nog to Hermione. Having not spilled a single drop, he felt he was entitled to some praise as he beamed at her. In response, she raised an eyebrow and began levitating the nutmeg from the kitchen, moving it through elaborate loops and turns on its path. With a final flourish, she caused the open bottle to linger directly underneath Ron’s nose before taking it in her hand. This not only made Ron’s ears turn pink, but a fresh chorus of mirth to fill the room once more. Hermione sprinkled some nutmeg over her drink, and sipped it with an expression of feigned innocence on her features.

Without thinking anything of it, Ron leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Hermione’s smirking lips. There was a brief silence at this action, and Ron spent it looking into Hermione’s shocked eyes. He was on the verge of apologizing when she flashed her brilliant smile at him, causing his ears to go from pink to bright red. The tension of the moment eased, the Weasley brothers immediately began various cat calls and whistles. George came around from the back of the tree and clapped his brother soundly on the back, declaring it was “about ruddy time.” Despite his embarrassment, Ron couldn’t help but grin—she was the cleverest witch of their generation after all, how was he supposed to resist?

It was with a smile of his own that Mr. Weasley called the attention of his children back to the task at hand. The aging ornament boxes began to float toward each of the Weasley children, with George taking two off of the stack. Ron took the box that was covered in childish writing proclaiming it to be the property of “Ronald Bilius Weasley—NO TWINS ALLOWED!” He ran a finger over the letters, remembering how fiercely protective he had become of his possessions after the year Fred turned his teddy into a spider. For a moment he was lost in the world of memory, until Hermione’s voice recalled him to the present.

“Ron, what’s in the boxes?” Ron looked at her, watching the quizzical expression on her face mingled with her amusement as she traced the scrawled letters of his name.

Ron pulled open the lid of the box and gestured for her to look inside as he began his explanation. “It’s a family tradition. Every year for Christmas each of us gets a new ornament to put on the tree. Mum started it when Bill was born because when she and Dad got married they didn’t have anything to put on their first tree, and she never wanted her children to feel that way. So as you can see, we’ve all amassed quite the collection over the years.”

Ron let his hand wander over the decorations before finally selecting the first ornament that his parents had ever given him. A stuffed bear held a picture frame that contained a portrait of Arthur and Molly Weasley holding a young Ron who was eagerly munching on a chocolate biscuit. He gingerly handed it to Hermione so she could examine it, and was slightly startled to see her softened expression. She traced the outside of the frame before looking up at him with a soft smile. Ron felt the compulsion to kiss her again, but resisted it by launching himself into a description of the rest of the items his box contained.

“The first few ornaments are mainly pictures or something that reminds Mum and Dad of when we were babies. After that, they started to buy us ones that matched our interests and personalities.” He nodded to where his oldest brother was hanging a miniature of the Great Sphinx. “For Bill it was always exotic places. Mum got him that one the year he took the job with Gringotts in Egypt.”

Ron watched as Hermione soaked in his words before turning to watch Charlie. He was stroking the beak of his hippogriff ornament. “Let me guess,” she said with a grin, “magical creatures?”

Ron nodded with a look of mock seriousness on his face, “Yeah, but watch out when he brings out the dragon ornament. Dad bought him this really nice German ornament that breathes actual fire—one year it signed the back of George’s hand really good! See if you can guess what Percy gets every year.” Ron knew he should probably be placing his own ornaments on the tree, but he was enjoying sharing this tradition with Hermione far too much.

As Hermione watched Percy place what appeared to be many different wizards on the tree, Ron chuckled to himself. Percy’s collection was the one most difficult to discern any actual meaning from, and he decided to help Hermione out a little. “This first time you met me, some of those wizards were spread out all over the seats of mine and Harry’s compartment . . .”

“Oh! They’re wizards who’ve been on the cards you get with Chocolate Frogs then? That seems awfully grown up for a child’s ornament collection.”  
  
Shrugging, Ron responded, “Well, Percy’s always been really ambitious. He wanted to grow up to be on one of those cards some day—he’s actually the one who got me hooked on them to begin with.”

“Ah,” Hermione nodded, “So I suppose George is next then?”

Ron felt his chest tighten slightly as he nodded, “Yeah, ever since . . . well ever since the battle George puts up both his and Fred’s. Dad wasn’t going to bring them out that first Christmas but George went ballistic. Says the tree would never look right without both sets of ornaments. Mum actually agreed with him and she still buys an ornament for Fred every year—I think George is saving them to give to any kids he has.” Ron did not stop the single tear that rolled down his cheek caused by the emotion tangled up in the situation. After Percy had freed George of his heart-ache, the remaining twin had been adamant about preserving his brother’s memory in every possible way.

His sadness left him in a burst of laughter as Hermione gasped at what George was putting on the tree—one unused Filibuster Fireworks and a Fanged Frisbee that looked as if it would happily bite the hand holding it. “Ron! Is their collection—”

“A selection from Zonko’s Joke shop? Yeah, pretty much all of their ornaments are either items from there or models of sweets from Honeyduke’s that were their particular favorites. Did you really expect anything different for those two?”

“Well no, not exactly. So I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that all of your ornaments are either to do with the Canons or chess, then?” Snickering, Hermione removed the miniature canon that occasionally shot out orange smoke balls from Ron’s box.

“I do have a history of having excellent taste, so I don’t suppose you should be surprised. You can put that one on the tree if you’d like.” Ron carefully set the box with the rest of his ornaments next to him on the couch, and selected the ornament depicting a chess set to hang on the tree. He watched as Hermione hung his ornament and crossed to Ginny, clearly searching to learn what the youngest Weasley sibling had in her ornament box. Ron wondered what she would think when she learned the Ginny—the very definition of a tom boy for the most part—had a collection of ‘classic’ accessories for her ornaments. He didn’t have much time to ponder it, as he could soon hear Hermione making a fuss over the silver brush that Ginny was showing her. _Girls,_ he thought quietly while shaking his head.

For several happy minutes the process decorating of the tree consumed Ron’s thoughts. It was easy not to think about what was coming as he took advantage of his height to place his ornaments high on the branches, taking pains in pointing out this advantage to George who was fighting with Charlie over ownership of one of the other branches. George promptly threatened to place Ron’s best loved ornament—a keeper decked out in full Canons’ robes—directly in the path of Charlie’s dragon. It was true that they could have easily levitated their ornaments into place, but there was comfort to be found in doing such things without magic.

After several hours of trimming the tree and eating Christmas Eve dinner in between chaotic decorating spurts, the tree was finished. The Weasley family lounged comfortably all around the sitting room, admiring their handiwork. With the ornament collections of the children proudly displayed among the Gryffindor themed globes, it was truly a fitting depiction of the family: slightly eccentric as well as a haven for warmth and love. Ron was incredibly grateful to be a part of both the tree and this night, surrounded by the people who meant the most to him in the world.

The evening was winding down, and Ron could tell that the warmth emanating from the fireplace was seeping into the people around him. At this rate, it would not be long before his parents headed to their room for the night. He sent a meaningful glace to Ginny, who nodded once and excused herself for a moment.

Pulse thrumming in his ears, Ron heaved a sigh of mingled contentment and anticipation. The moment he had been waiting for all day was close at hand.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Curled up next to Ron on the couch, Hermione had to struggle not to give in to the urge to doze off. The feelings of safety, of a sense that she was home warmed her through and through, giving her no desire to leave the Weasley’s couch. She could not fathom why Ginny had left her similar position next to Harry on the over-stuffed loveseat. Stretching languidly while reveling in having Ron’s strong arm around her, Hermione briefly wondered what Mum-Weasley would do if she, little Miss-Bookworm, chose to fall asleep here wrapped in Ron’s arms.

Ginny’s return to the room cut off that particular train of thought. The young woman held a small box in her hand and stood before a very bemused looking Harry.

“Harry, I wanted to give this to you, seeing as its Christmas and you’re going to really be part of our family in a few months. So here you are, love, your first Weasley family ornament!”

As the entire family watched Harry hurriedly unwrapped and opened the box Ginny had given him. For a moment, his face was a mask of delight that slowly turned bright red before he began to laugh so hard that tears coursed down his face. Ginny joined in with his joyous laughter, a triumphant smile on her face.

The source of their shared mirth became apparent as Harry lifted the ornament from its packaging. Two soft-toy Pygmy Puffs—one bottle green and the other a rich hazel—appeared to be nuzzling one another, while pipe-cleaners entwined to form a heart above them. Gales of laughter greeted the revelation, and the merriment only intensified when Harry literally strutted from the loveseat to proudly hang the ornament.

So lost was Hermione in the moment that she hardly noticed when Ron gently touched her shoulder. She turned to find him gazing intensely at her, blue eyes shining with laughter and something deeper. It was the look he had given her before kissing her in his room earlier, and the intensity of it made her breath catch. Drowning in the depths of his eyes, it took Hermione a moment to process that he was speaking.

“Um, Hermione, I uh, that is…I got you an ornament too.” With bright red ears and trembling hands, Ron brought forward what appeared to be an antique puzzle box that held a space for the missing piece. Curious as to the reasoning behind his choice, yet eager to show her appreciation for the unexpected gift, Hermione took it carefully in her hands and stood to hang it on the tree.

As she took a step towards the tree, Hermione felt a new kind of warmth spread in her hands. Looking down at the ornament, she saw that the missing piece was slowly materializing. She brought the now completed puzzle box close to her face, and gave a little start of surprise when she saw a catch unclasp on the box. Slowly, the top of the box began to lift away and Hermione was left staring at a gorgeous sapphire and diamond ring.

A squeak of surprise escaped her as she whirled in place to ask Ron a question. It died on her lips as she found him down on one knee before her. Her eyes became as big as dish plates and her right hand flew to cover her suddenly open mouth.

“Hermione, I’ve done a lot of thinking over the past year.” Ron’s voice was shaky with emotion, but gradually drew strength as he went on. “What with you being gone, and all. I realized that when you’re away, a huge piece of my life—no, my heart—is missing. And I’ve decided that I don’t want to spend another day without you, let alone a whole year. So, well, will you marry me, ‘Mione?”

Blue eyes gazed at her, and Hermione was sure she could see the sincerity of his love shining from Ron’s very soul. And she, the girl who had the answer to every question, was speechless. Her mouth made movements in an attempt to speak, but her heart had grown so in her chest that the words simply could not come out. She blinked in a futile effort to stem the tears flowing freely down her face, and mutely nodded in response.

In the span of a single fluttering heartbeat, Ron was before her, taking the ring and placing it on her finger. _That_ grin was back on his face, though tears to match the ones on her face coursed from his eyes. Two heartbeats later, he had lifted her off the floor and into an embrace that made her melt on the inside. Four heartbeats after that, the two pulled apart to gaze at each other for a single moment before they resumed their kiss. _This_ , Hermione thought, _is what people mean when they talk about true happiness._

It was in the middle of their second kiss that their audience reacted. The Weasley brother’s immediately began to shout and cheer their younger brother’s courage, and Hermione felt herself being pulled away from Ron only to be hoisted into the air by George and Percy. From atop their shoulders she could see Mum-Weasley sobbing in joy as Da-Weasley pulled Ron into a fierce congratulatory hug. Ginny caught her eye and mouthed ‘sisters at last’ as Harry wrapped his arms around his fiancé’s waist and beamed. Charlie kept asking how in Merlin’s name Ron had managed to keep it a secret from his brothers, and Bill merely smiled and shook his head. Through it all, she and Ron kept glancing back to one another, the joy of this moment outweighing anything that anyone could say to them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Several hours later, once everyone had gone to bed after the excitement, Molly Weasley made her way to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. Descending the last step, a noise in the sitting room caught her ear. Cautiously looking in, she found her youngest son sleeping soundly next to his new fiancé, the two of them lying side by side in contented slumber. Molly dismissed her motherly worries about propriety, having ushered the rest of the family to bed hours ago to give the two a bit of privacy.

Tip-toeing closer, she stifled a laugh as she recognized the shirts they wore; how could she not when she had made them herself? Hermione wore a jumper that must have come from Ron’s school days, and Ron was curled in the one she had given him last year. Lying there nose-to-nose on the old couch, the two were a perfect picture of young love. Tenderly, Molly draped a quilt over the sleeping pair lest they catch cold, and saw her future daughter-in-law’s ring winking merrily in the firelight. The glinting jewel seemed to be a symbol of the promise she saw embodied in these two young people who had been tied to one another for long. Truly, this was a Christmas Eve that would not soon be forgotten in her family. Her heart bursting with pride and love, Molly tip-toed back to her room, deciding she was not really thirsty after all.


	6. Chapter 6 - A Picture of Frustration

This wedding business was going to drive him abso-bloody-lutely mad.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ron heaved a heavy sigh. Ever since the planning had begun in earnest, it seemed like he existed in a world dictated by chaotic decisions that followed no apparent logical progression. It was hell on his nature, going against every rule any decent chess player followed. Everything was so tied up in emotion and tradition and ceremony—it disgusted him to think about it.

The gown, the shoes, the bridesmaids’ robes, the guest list, the food, the venue—the list was not only never ending, but also the details of each item were subject to change at a moment’s notice. Several times in the past few weeks some snag in the plans would take on more importance than any thing else, and the world (which he, regrettably, was part of) was supposed to just hold its breath until things were once again back on track.

Of course, if things were to get back on any kind of recognizable track that generally meant Hermione was needed. And if Hermione was given the slightest inkling that she maybe, possibly, _might_ be needed, it meant she would go rushing off to save the day. It did not matter what her previous plans were…no, the bloody wedding had to be saved and she was the only person capable of doing it. It had happened numerous times, and today’s cancellation of their lunch date was just one more source of irritation.

Ron reached into his desk for a sheet of parchment to respond to Hermione’s hastily dashed explanation of why she wouldn’t be joining him at the Leaky Cauldron. In truth, he hadn’t really read her excuse, because he was sure if he saw the phrase “emergency with _fill-in-the-blank wedding item”_ , he was going to curse the next person to walk into his office out of sheer frustration. He didn’t think he would be quite so hurt and angry if it were their wedding she was devoting practically her every waking moment to. Then he might understand the constant sheets of parchment fluttering into his office with words like _‘I’m sorry’_ or _‘Next time—I promise!’_ written in her damnably elegant script.

But no, it wasn’t her own wedding Hermione was so wrapped up in. No, instead it was the wedding of his bloody stupid little sister and his clearly demented best friend. Once Ginny and Harry had decided to move up the date of their wedding by six months and Ginny appointed Hermione maid-of-honor, Ron had begun to spend more and more evenings in their flat alone with his brooding feelings. Now that the wedding was only a week away, Ron saw more of his co-workers than he did of his fiancée, and his patience was wearing thin.

All the combined factors, plus his empty stomach may have been what caused him to begin his response so sarcastically.

_Dearest Hermione;_

_So sorry to hear that you won’t be able to make our lunch plans—although I suppose I should be used to it by now. Will you at least be home for supper? It would be nice to actually see you for more than five minutes before I go to take care of the final preparations for Harry’s stag night._

_Eagerly awaiting having my fiancée back,_

_Ronald B. Weasley_

As he watched the paper fly out of his office, Ron let out a growl. No doubt his sarcastic and petty note would only serve to increase the tension between Hermione and him, but at this point he could not help himself. They had been engaged just over a month, and so far hardly anything about living with Hermione was as he imagined it.

Truthfully, the first week had been bliss. Secluded in the haven of the Burrow at Christmas-time, they had begun to relearn one another; sharing in person things that had previously only been revealed behind the veil of parchment and ink. Ron had a thousand moments of that idyllic week emblazoned upon his memory.

The way her hand felt in his as they walked down to the Village to see the Christmas lights.

The sight of her soft smile as they spoke of what their future—a concept that was glorious in and of itself—might hold, each scarcely believing that their dreams were so close to becoming reality.

The taste of her kisses lingering on his mouth long after they had returned to more public gatherings, causing his ears to flush beet red whenever one of his brothers called him from his reverie.

Or undoubtedly his favorite, the way she had spoken his name after the first time they had made love. Lying there with his face buried in her lily-of-the-valley scented hair, thrills had traveled up and down his spine to hear her almost breathless voice caress the syllables of his name.

Sitting in his office at the Ministry, Ron leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on the desk in an attempt to relax. Yes, there were plenty of blissful memories he could lose himself in, and he had thought surely such things would continue, that nothing could remove him from this utopian existence. They well might have stayed in that happy world had it not been for that damnable New Year’s Eve party his mother had thrown.

The New Year’s Eve party where Harry and Ginny decided to announce that not only did they want to move up the wedding to early February, but they wanted Ron and Hermione to serve as best man and maid of honor.

At first, Ron had been honored that Harry wanted chosen to have him to stand at his side on the big day. Ron’s next thought had been one of mischievous glee as he realized that he would be the one to plan Harry’s Stag Night. Both he and Hermione had readily agreed to the offers of their best friends.

But what started out as an honor quickly turned into a chore. It became apparent that Hermione was taking on far more responsibility than a typical maid of honor. This put her in the position of mediator between Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. Ron’s highly independent baby sister was struggling to cope with their mother’s desire to throw the perfect wedding for her only daughter. He knew from Hermione’s stories that they two Weasley women were on each other’s last nerve and he quickly surmised that were it not for Hermione’s diplomatic efforts, they would probably have killed one another by this point.

Instead, the three of them became as thick as thieves and spent their days preparing for the ceremony amidst the flash of cameras and reporters begging for interviews about Harry Potter’s wedding. Harry had taken to referring to the three women as “The Wedding Trio,” which he claimed was quickly becoming the new favorite of the media, now that they were finally over reporting on news of “The Golden Trio.” And while Ron did not envy Ginny the prospect of planning her nuptials whilst under the spotlight, a part of him did miss the closeness he had shared with Harry and Hermione during the heyday of their trio.

It was especially hard to listen to conversations between the three women. While he couldn’t really bring himself to care about the details they were going over, the inside jokes they had plagued him with a sense of loss. He recalled a day when, after a seemingly innocent word from another, he could send a glance Hermione and Harry’s way during an ordinary conversation and cause them both to burst into laughter. The demands of work—and now this stupid bloody wedding—meant that he spent continuously less time with his two best friends. He knew he was being petulant, but there was a part of him that truly missed when it had just been the three of them, with no other factors to consider.

Even as the sadness passed through his head, he knew it was immature and really made no logical sense. They were growing older; of course they would be spending more time apart. Especially now that they were getting married, he knew that they would want time with their spouses—even if that meant Hermione and he being apart from Harry more than ever before. Ron scowled to himself—for something that was supposed to make him so happy it sure was causing a lot of change in his life, and he truly hated change.

With a sigh, Ron realized he was back to feeling the way he had when Harry had first told him of wanting to ask for Ginny’s hand. In true Harry fashion, he had told Ron about it before anyone else, trusting his best friend’s judgment on the issue, and wanting his permission to join the family. Ron had readily agreed and encouraged Harry, despite the knot of anxiety that formed in his stomach. Though he had expected this question for years, it made the fact that they were all growing up far too real. A part of him felt betrayed by Harry’s desire to take this step in life—one that truly felt like a step away from him. Ron knew that it was foolish, but a part of him longed for their Hogwarts days, when Harry and he had been inseparable, and things like women and their damnable wedding plans didn’t complicate matters any.

He was so engrossed in what he was sure his mother would term a ‘pity party’ that it took Hermione’s response smacking him in the forehead to get his attention. Irritably, he grabbed the note out of the air and felt his face heat with anger as his gaze traveled the page.

_From: Hermione Jean Granger, Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures  
To: Ronald Bilius Weasley, Auror Headquarters_

_Re: Your oh-so-elegant supper invitation_

_Regrettably, I will have to turn down your eloquent and romantic suggestion for dinner, as I will be helping my **best friend** prepare for the most important day of her life. I am so sorry if this does fit in with what you had planned, but both of us agreed to help Ginny and Harry. It is not my fault if your job primarily consists of planning a get together for the guys—something you all would have done on your own without any problem. After all, it’s not as if you’ve had to do any real planning._

_Unlike you, I have to be concerned with the events of the actual day, and while YOU may not consider the—how did you phrase it? Ah yes—‘stupid traditions and fluffy ceremony’ to be the important part of the day, Ginny does. Therefore, while you are making sure that you satisfy your stomach, I will be taking care of Ginny. I am quite sure you can fix something adequate for yourself to consume before leaving for your evening of debauchery._

_Perhaps you could ask Harry if you could stay at Grimmauld Place tonight, as I am sure a bed there would be substantially more comfortable then the couch in our sitting room._

_Hermione Jean Granger_

Ron‘s fist banged on his desk in frustration. Damn her! Hermione had seen fit to respond with his snarky and sarcastic letter with something she knew would wound. Not only had she chosen to make out as if the Stag Night was the easiest thing in the world to coordinate, but she just _had_ to throw in the careless way he’d described the wedding during the row they’d had a week ago.

He began balling up the letter in the hand that was not currently attempting to make a hole in his desk. She knew how much effort he had put into creating a Stag Night that was suited to Harry. Ron had spent ages contacting everyone and coordinating their various busy schedules to select and evening when all of Harry’s chums could come together. His choice of venue was something he considered a stroke of brilliance, given that a typical night out at staring at strippers had been banned by both the bride and groom. He had worked very well around Ginny’s stipulation that there be no nearly naked or naked women at this party. And the decorations, he thought with a smirk, they were brilliant in and of themselves.

He knew his planning was nothing compared to what Hermione had been working on, and he knew that his task was relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of the wedding, but he wanted it to be good for Harry. It was the last time that the two of them would be ‘free men’ together the last time they would be able to hang out without concerns about ‘spouses’ and what time the ‘little women’ would want them to come home.

His anxiety over what Harry would think of the party was what had caused the row where he’d uttered quite possibly the stupidest words of his life. Hermione knew that something was bothering him. She always did and as usual she wouldn’t stop pestering him to just _talk_ to her about it.

Ron had been in no mood, and told her that he was busy planning something for his best friend and that he didn’t need to go into his _feelings_.

Hermione had snapped back at him that she thought him more than capable of organizing a simple party for the blokes.

Ron had known it was the wrong thing to say, but in his state of worry over his own responsibilities, he asked her if she didn’t have to go work on something involving ‘stupid traditions’ for the ridiculously ‘fluffy ceremony.’

A wounded look had crossed Hermione’s face, and she had promptly left their flat, calling behind her that she would be staying with Ginny for the night.

They had existed in a calm state of avoidance of the issue since then. She had returned, they’d gone back to sharing the cramped double bed, and he had hoped and prayed his stupidity was forgiven and forgotten. Apparently that was not the case.

“Ron, Ron, RON! OI! Pay attention, damn it! There’s a giant spider behind your head!” Jumping up from his desk chair, Ron hurriedly looked around, wand at the ready to smash the offending arachnid. It quickly became apparent that there was no such creature, and Ron twisted to look in his fireplace, where George’s head was waiting with a huge grin.

“Damn, George, did you _have_ to say there was a bloody spider? Couldn’t you have just waited a moment?”

“Sorry baby brother, but you seemed so intent on turning your desk into wood pulp that I had to think of some way to get your attention. And you know it’s customary for a customer of ‘Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes’ to receive notification when a delivery is about to be made. If I were you, I’d make myself scarce in about thirty seconds, before Potter can find you.”

A grin split Ron’s features, and he hurriedly thanked his brother. He left his office, trying to affect a casual stroll down the corridor to Harry’s office. When he reached the door, he simply paused to wait.

It didn’t take long. A trill of trumpets filled the air, followed by several large popping noises as his surprise began to fill Harry’s office. The squeak of literally hundreds of Pygmy Puffs could be heard through the door, and Ron began to laugh hysterically. It was only made better when he best friend of twelve years flung open the door covered in Pygmy Puffs.

“Weasley, I am going to KILL YOU!”


	7. Chapter 7 -  The One with the Pygmy Puff

As lunch time approached, Harry couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anticipation. He was eagerly awaiting whatever surprises Ron had in store for his Stag Night.  And, actually, he’d been rather on his guard all day, just knowing that Ron would try something at work.  

Kicking at a spot on his floor idly, Harry felt slightly confused that his best friend hadn’t shocked him with something first thing in the morning—more specifically something of the fluffy pink and purple variety. Ron had been acting rather subdued over the past week, and Harry assumed it was probably due to the fight he’d had with Hermione. Harry knew he was being selfish, but he truly hoped that Ron would perk up for the Stag Night later; otherwise it wouldn’t be any fun whatsoever.

Glancing at the watch Mum-Weasley had presented him with on his seventeenth birthday, Harry saw it was just about time to head down to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. He was stacking his completed work when a trill of trumpets filled the office, and he recognized it as the traditional notification of an incoming delivery from Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. Harry’s eyebrows shot up to the top of his head as he felt the smile creep over his face—Ron apparently did have a surprise in store.  Although, he had to admit it was with a bit of reservation that he was anticipating this…after all it was something that involved a delivery from George.

There was a loud pop in his office, and Harry’s smile almost immediately turned into a scowl. Pink and purple squeaking bits of fluff began to fill his office by the dozens, causing Harry to make a break for the exit before he was crushed by the weight of the Pygmy Puffs. He was vaguely aware of the fact that not a small number of the creatures were clinging to his robes as he flung the door open. He caught sight of his traitorous best friend, propping himself up against the wall of the hallway, and laughing his head off.

“Weasley, I am going to KILL YOU!” Harry pulled his door shut with a resounding slam, and tried very hard to convey how irritated he was to Ron with a glare.

That lasted for all of about five seconds.

When Harry saw how gleeful Ron was at the success of his prank, he couldn’t help but start to laugh with him. Relief flooded his system at the ease apparent in his best friend’s face. It was an affirmation for Harry that no matter how things were going in their respective love lives, the two of them would always be able to laugh together.

Harry took off his glasses to wipe the tears of laughter that stained his face, and felt Ron clap a hand on his shoulder. Two of the ‘passengers’ on Harry’s robes were dislodged and gave an emphatic squeak as they went flying.  The friends glanced at one another and promptly burst into another fit of laughter. Standing there, covered in tiny squeaking animals, Harry was forced to remember when the whole Pygmy Puff joke had began . . .

**********

Four Months Earlier

It had been an extremely long day, Harry thought, as he let his eyes scan his desk and the piles of parchment he’d just finished going through.  This was the part of his job that he hated, with a passion.  Endless stacks of paperwork entered and exited his office every day, all needing his signature or at least for him to go over them.

But today his mind hadn’t really been into it.  Not that it ever completely was, he had to admit.  He’d struggled with his attention span all day, fighting images that made him blush, grin stupidly, and squirm in his chair.

Just yesterday, Ginny had finally been told that after more than a year of struggling on the reserve team, she’d earned a place as a starting Chaser.  And, after a celebratory dinner at a fancy Muggle restaurant, Harry had taken Ginny back to Grimmauld Place and they’d…celebrated in other ways.  Several times.

At lunch time he’d locked his door, leaned back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk, heedless of whatever they may be wrinkling, and let the daydreams follow their path.

The temptation to apparate directly to Holyhead, find Ginny, and resume where they’d left off this morning was almost too much and Harry had been forced to take a brisk walk through the halls to distract himself.

But it was almost time to leave for the day and Harry was more than happy to get out of his stuffy office.  He’d never gotten used to the windows showing what really wasn’t there; knowing that the Ministry truly was underground and the beautiful sunny day outside wasn’t real at all.  In fact, it had been raining earlier when he’d come in to work.

“This just came for you, Mr. Potter.”

Martha, his secretary, bustled into the office and in her usually efficient manner, deposited a fresh round of parchment and gathered what he’d already worked on.

“Tell Ginny congratulations for me,” she smiled.  “She’s worked hard to get that spot.”

Harry grinned and nodded.  “She has.  If you’re interested, she sometimes gets free tickets.”

The older woman smiled and shook her head with a laugh.  “I wouldn’t know a Quaffle from a Bludger, Mr. Potter.  But my niece just might be interested.  She’s idolized Ginny ever since they put her on the team.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel a spark of pride bubble up inside him at the words about his fiancée.  She was amazing and now the whole world was getting to know part of the reason why.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If there’s nothing further, Mr. Potter, I’ll be finishing up and going home now.”

“That’s fine, Martha.  Thank you.”  He hated that she still called him ‘Mr. Potter’ but that was a battle that had been fought and lost, spectacularly, when she’d first come to work for him.

He watched her leave the office and turned his attention to the things she had brought in.  More paperwork—well, that would just have to wait until tomorrow.

However, a lilac colored envelope caught his attention.  Very feminine handwriting and a scent that was uniquely Ginny graced it and Harry grinned.  Ginny rarely sent him anything at work, although she sometimes left notes hidden around his flat.

He slipped a finger into the sealed envelope and opened it quickly, his eyes scanning the stationary inside, growing wider with each line.  He could feel the back of his neck heat up, and vaguely wondered if Magical Maintenance had increased the heating charms in this portion of the Ministry.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered as he reached the end of the highly scandalous and erotic note.  He immediately began reading it again after shooting a quick glance toward his open door.

It was then that he noticed another, smaller piece of paper tucked behind the first.  It looked as if it had been torn from another piece, as if scribbled out on something important and then ripped out and sent to him.

The heat in his neck immediately transferred to his cheeks as he saw what Ginny had sketched out there.  A fluffy Pygmy Puff was drawn in purple ink with the words, ‘My Harry’ written above it and decorated with little hearts.

“Damn woman,” Harry hissed and glared at the picture.

It had been something Ginny had teased him about ever since they’d become lovers.  Always, after their vigorous love making, Harry would cuddle up to Ginny’s back and place his chin on her shoulder, nuzzling her neck and placing soft kisses there.  It was something that gave him great comfort to love her in that way, his arms still holding her and his heart beating against her soft skin.

At first she’d giggled and cuddled back into him.  Then she’d laughed outright as his breath tickled her neck and compared him to her Pygmy Puff, Arnold, who used to ride on her shoulder around the Gryffindor common room.  Apparently, he’d been one to cuddle as well.

Harry had laughed it off, of course.  But the joke had continued until it had been a running thing between them.  After sex, Ginny would ask for her ‘Pygmy Puff time’ and Harry would grumble until he finally gave in to her looks of pouting and pulled her to him.  Often times this would lead to round two, but it was something that just the two of them shared.

Even as his face continued to heat, Harry couldn’t help but look at the drawing again.  Slightly scandalized, Harry realized the picture had been drawn on, and removed from, a page of Ginny’s Quidditch playbook.  She’d probably been bored in a long-running training meeting and had let her thoughts wander, most likely along the same lines Harry’s had earlier today.

He’d have to pay her back for that, he vowed.

“Oi, Harry!”

His head snapped up to see Ron leaning in the doorway.

“You about ready there?” Ron asked as he shook his head.  “I’ve been standing here for a few minutes.”

“Yeah, erm, just…just give me a minute,” Harry choked out, hurriedly shuffling Ginny’s note and drawing into his desk drawer.  It wouldn’t do to have her brother, and his best mate, reading something…like that!  He valiantly tried to keep the blush off of his face as he rearranged more paperwork into piles, preparing it to go into his desk to be locked away.

“You feeling alright?” Ron asked, a concerned look darkening his features.  “You seem a bit flushed.”

“Yeah, erm, it’s…nothing.” Harry waved him off and gathered his cloak after placing a strong locking charm on his desk.

“You sure?” Ron asked again, looking him up and down.

“I’m fine, Ron,” Harry stated a bit more forcefully than he’d meant to.  He sighed and shrugged.  “Sorry, it’s just been a long day.”

Ron studied him for a minute before shrugging to himself and clapping Harry on the back.  “Let’s go then.”

Harry nodded and made his way out to the hall, waiting for Ron to follow.  However, when he turned back, Ron was bent over, picking up a small piece of parchment that had trickled to the floor.

“Forgot something, mate,” he said innocently.

Harry’s eyes widened and it felt as if time slowed down.  Ron’s face went from simply curious to shock to a wide, evil grin.  And there was nothing Harry could do to stop him from seeing the drawing.

“Accio!” he snarled and the paper was snatched out of Ron’s hands.

“What the—“

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry said as he snatched it out of mid-air and stuffed it into his pocket.  Oh, Ginny would pay now.

“Harry the Pygmy Puff?” Ron grinned with a raised eyebrow.  Harry’s head fall back and he sighed up to the ceiling.  “Do I even want to know?”

“It’s just…this thing between Ginny and me, alright?  A joke.”

Ron appraised him with a knowing smirk.  “Right.  Well, then, it’s been a long day.”  He brushed past a startled Harry.

Was Ron really planning to let this go?  Harry couldn’t believe it, he’d never been that lucky in his life.  He stumbled after Ron, scowling darkly at his friend’s back until he caught up and they were even.  They continued in silence all the way to the Atrium, queuing up for the apparition point.

“Ron…listen, you’re not going to say anything—“

“Relax, Harry,” Ron smirked at his panicked friend.  “I’m not the sort of bloke to take the mickey out of someone for years, am I?”

Harry’s relief that the subject might just disappear forever faded.  Ron was exactly that sort of bloke.

“Ron—“

But Ron only waggled his eyebrows as he stepped into the circle designated for Disapparation and disappeared.

“I’m going to kill her,” Harry sighed as he too left the Ministry for the day.

*********

Harry was returned to the present by a myriad of pops filling the air. With a startled expression, he noticed that all of the Pygmy Puffs that had covered his robes were disappearing. He shot a quizzical look at his friend, surprised that the animals, and the source of his embarrassment, were disappearing so quickly. Ron’s customary lop-sided grin spread over his face, and with a graceful shrug he launched into an explanation.

“As much fun as it was to picture you reigning as king of the fluff balls for a day, I didn’t think you would be too amused by the notion. So I arranged it with George and Percy that after about five minutes of fluffy fun here at the office, the lot would be delivered to patients at the children’s ward of St. Mungo’s and to the kids at the Honorary Fred Weasley Orphanage. But if you miss them too much, I could always have them brought back. . .” Harry immediately threw up his hands to forestall any such thought on Ron’s part. As he chuckled softly, he threw a companionable arm around Ron’s shoulder. It was so like the red-head to ensure that the Pygmy Puffs would find willing homes.

“Hungry? I was just about to head down to the Leaky Cauldron for a bite to eat; you’re welcome to join me, unless of course you’ve got plans with Hermione, then—”

“No!” Ron hurriedly cut Harry off. “That is…Hermione had something she had to take care of, so I’m free for lunch today. C’mon, we’ll go down to get something to eat and you can continue your foolish attempts to find out what’s going on for your Stag Party.” Though he hid it well, the look of pain that had flitted over Ron’s face had not escaped Harry’s notice. It was quite clear, however, that Ron didn’t want to go into whatever might have caused Hermione to change her lunch plans.

*******

Harry’d been having a great day.  Despite another ‘Pygmy Puff’ incident, he’d returned from lunch wearing a huge grin and couldn’t wait for this afternoon.  It seemed a bit childish to be so excited over something so…normal as a get-together with his friends.  But maybe it was the fact that he knew how much work Ron had put into the evening and he appreciated it.  One thing was for sure, Harry was going to have to work awfully hard to top this for Ron’s Stag Night.

Somehow, Ron had made arrangements for them to use the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch for a few hours right after work.  Ron had shown up at his office at precisely five, holding a rucksack and Harry’s Firebolt II.

Harry had been thrilled at the thought of getting to really ride again.  Sure he’d played often at the Burrow, but it just wasn’t the same as racing around a real pitch, using real balls. It was made even better because he was back at Hogwarts and playing with his best mates. Harry was really having the most fun he could remember having in a long time.

The rest of the Weasley boys had shown up, as well as Seamus, Dean and Neville and a scratch game had begun.  Harry had been even more astounded when Oliver Wood, Lee Jordan, Dad-Weasley and Kingsley Shackelbolt walked up totting brooms over their shoulders.  The game had gotten more serious then, but also more fun as the rules simply didn’t seem to exist.  His stomach hurt from laughing so much at the cries of dismay, the excessive use of shoulders and the blatant cheating that took place.  Over it all came Lee’s highly biased and hilarious commentary.

In the end, the game had dissolved when Harry and Charlie had raced for the snitch with Harry coming up victorious.

“Alright, blokes, everyone who’s staying, follow me!” Ron had bellowed and began jogging toward the changing rooms.

“If he thinks we’re all showering together…” Seamus teased and it set all the men off into more rounds of laughter.  Nevertheless, they all followed, chatting all the way.

He was caught up in an argument with George over whether Beaters were more important than Seekers—something the two of them had been doing since Harry first joined Gryffindor’s Quidditch team—and didn’t notice the changes at first. Harry stopped completely, noticing the room that he’d spent more than a few mornings in during his school years was no more.  Gone were the grey metal lockers which kept all their Quidditch uniforms and the chalkboards that had once sported Wood’s elaborate playbook.  Even the musty, sweaty, teenage-boy smell was gone.

All replaced with something that greatly resembled the Gryffindor common room.  

Harry spun, searching for Ron, who stood near a large table that was covered with bottles of butterbeer, piles of snack foods and what looked like some of his favorite dishes from the Hogwarts kitchens.  He opened his mouth to say something…anything to thank Ron for all that this meant to him.  But no words would come.

“To Harry,” Ron cheered as he lifted a bottle out toward his friend.  “To his last night of freedom before he, willingly I might add, slips on those chains and shackles of marriage.”

“Here, here!” came the cheers all around.  Harry grinned, oddly touched that they were all toasting him.

“Don’t get too cocky, little brother,” George put in as he clapped Ron on the shoulder.  “If I remember right, you too are headed down that path.”

Someone pushed a bottle into Harry’s hands and he stood still, flinching when Ron’s face darkened a bit.  But then the moment was gone and Ron leaned his head back and took a large swallow from his own bottle.

“Harry,” Neville clapped him on the shoulder and Harry was distracted away from Ron as Neville steered him to a replica of the armchair that had been a favorite of Harry’s school days. Reminded once more of the effort Ron had put into the evening, Harry decided he would confront his friend later, once he had thoroughly enjoyed his Stag Night.

******

Ron was pleased at how the evening was turning out so far.  The Quidditch match had been nothing short of brilliant, if he did say so himself.  For a while it had almost felt like they were teenagers again. As he taught his father the lyrics to Weasley is Our King he noticed Harry making a dive for the Snitch. If he hadn’t known just how skilled his best friend was, Ron might have accused Charlie of letting them win. The look on Charlie’s face thwarted any such notion—Ron’s older brother was simply stunned at having been bested by someone he considered another ‘kid brother.’ It had made the victory all the sweeter.

And using the changing rooms, which he had to admit had been Ginny’s brainstorm, had taken care of the need for extra security to keep the press away. He could almost hear Hermione in his head: “Well, it’s not like they could Apparate here, I mean you are on the grounds of Hogwarts. But you would know that if you ever read. . .” Ron felt his stomach clench uncomfortably—it was too painful to think of Hermione right now. He knew he would need to work out an apology, but that could come later, after he’d seen to the rest of the party. What he needed now, was a distraction. . .

“Thank Merlin for butterbeer,” he thought as he took another bottle from the constantly-refilling table and made a mental note to thank Kreacher personally for all his hard work.  And the other elves as well.  He snickered thinking that Hermione would be proud of him.  And then he remembered, yet again, that they weren’t talking right now. Damn that woman! Did she know how she infected his every waking moment, making it damnably difficult to properly enjoy the fruits of his weeks’ long labor?

His eyes scanned the party again, making sure that everyone was being entertained and no one was lacking a beverage or something to eat.  This was what he’d been talking about earlier.  This party had been real work.  And Hermione had just not appreciated it, thinking that it had been so easy to ‘throw together’ something.  But it wasn’t.

There had been the selection of location, the choice of food and then coordinating the schedules of some of the most popular ‘heroes’ from the Second War. It had been a bloody nightmare.

Ron had been frantic all week, making sure no one had been left out, even arranging for Portkeys to take those who’d been drinking too heavily home for the night.  And then there was all the coordinating with Kreacher; although he’d probably been more in the way there than anything.  The elf, who’d come to respect and care for Harry very much over the years, had thrown himself into the preparations with a vigor that slightly frightened Ron.

And Harry seemed to be having the time of his life.  He was laughing and joking with everyone.  He did seem to be avoiding the heavier drinks, but that was fine with Ron.

A loud roar of laughter filled the room and Ron grinned as Hagrid righted Harry from where a huge stuffed Pygmy Puff had appeared out of nowhere and tackled him.  George waggled his eyebrows in Ron’s direction and Ron had to laugh.  The fuzzy creatures had been appearing and then disappearing with frightening regularity through the whole party.  It seemed to happen when Harry was most relaxed and seemed to have forgotten about the last appearance.

Ron was fairly sure only he and George were in on the joke, but everyone seemed to understand that the balls of fur meant something and enjoyed the laughter and redness of Harry’s face.

Once Harry had vanished the offending toy and brushed the pale pink fuzz off of his jumper, he shot Ron a venomous look and continued on with his conversation.

Yes, the party was turning out to be a huge success. It was only too bad that Ron didn’t feel as if he could share in that completely. He was continually distracted by thoughts of a certain prissy know-it-all; on the one hand, mad as hell that she would belittle his role as best man and on the other, desperately wanting her approval of all his hard work.

********

“Time for gifts!” George called out as the evening grew later.

Shaken from his reverie, Harry shot upright with a start. “Gifts?” he asked, feeling a bit panicked.  “I didn’t…you really all didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense, Harry,” Percy stated, pushing Harry back into his armchair when he’d leaned forward to try and stand.  A small pile of brightly wrapped gifts levitated over to settle in Harry’s lap.

“We should have done these before Dad-Weasley left,” Harry noted absently as he studied the boxes.

“Erm, no,” Ron shook his head and then cleared his throat.  “I’m sure Dad is just fine.  Besides, he and Kingsley both said they’d see you at the Ministry later, Harry.”

Harry was about to question him when he noticed the red tinge to Ron’s ears.  Perhaps opening these sort of…gifts was better left to when his father-in-law and the Minister of Magic had already left.  Suddenly, the significance of the gifts seemed much more.

“Erm…” There was something about opening those kind of gifts in front of the five brothers of his fiancé that seemed just . . . wrong. And getting those kinds of gifts from them . . . Harry didn’t want to think about it.

“Just open the bloody things, Harry,” Charlie teased, slapping him on the back.  “They can’t be that bad, can they.”

His face heating in a blush to rival a Weasley, Harry nodded and tore into the first box.

“That one’s from me and Dean,” Seamus informed him.  Somehow that didn’t bolster Harry’s confidence as he found a wooden box.  Inside were small vials of potions in all different colors of the rainbow.  He glanced up to find Seamus beaming proudly.

“There’s all kinds of different ones in there.  Some change your appearance slightly and some give you, erm, more…”

“Stamina,” Dean supplied with a salacious grin.  “Not that you need it, eh, Harry?”

As hearty male laughter and ribald suggestions filled the air, Harry quickly closed the case and shuffled it down to the floor, muttering his thanks.  He cleared his throat several times and attacked another present.  Inside he found a beautiful silver frame with a picture of he and Ginny sitting beneath a tree near the Burrow. The two of them sat with hands entwined, and every so often the Ginny in the picture would contentedly sigh and cuddle in to picture-Harry’s chest. In turn, picture-Harry would gently kiss the top of her head, and the two of them would then flash a grin to the camera. It was a very natural moment, and Harry tried in vain to remember when it had been taken.

“It’s…great,” Harry complimented to Bill.

The older man smiled down at him, eyes tinged with understanding. “Fleur and I thought you’d like that.  You can put it on your desk at the office.”

“What are you, a woman?” George scoffed in disgust while grabbing the photograph and depositing it further away.  Harry chuckled with everyone else and tried to convey his appreciation of the gift to Bill with a smile and a nod of his head.  He seemed to understand and grinned in return.

“I’d have gotten you something a bit more…well, yeah, but Fleur assures me that what she’s getting for Ginny’s Hen Party will more than make up for it.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he almost choked on the swallow of butterbeer he’d just taken.  The thought of Ginny getting something from Fleur…the French part-Veela…made his brain fuzz a bit. His choking fit set of another round of hilarity through the room, as all the men seemed to follow his line of thought. A muttered “Merlin’s Beard!” from Neville caused more jokes to be tossed around, and it was quite a few minutes before George could gather everyone’s attention once more.

“Next,” George urged, nudging a small rectangular package along to Harry.

Harry wasn’t sure his skin could take heating any more tonight as he caught sight of the book that was contained in the wrapping.  “1001 Nights, 1001 Positions: Using Magic To Enhance Your Performance,” he read out slowly.  Laughter broke out around him and he wasn’t sure whether they were laughing at him or whether it was meant to be some sort of joke.

”What?!? It’s a good book,” Neville defended, his cheeks pinkening.

“Neville?” Harry asked, his jaw dropping open. He could have understood if such a book had come from Percy the Practical, but Neville?! Harry tried to picture his friend reading such a text and his brain simply refused to cooperate.

“Well, it is,” Neville stated plainly and Harry could only nod in agreement.  His brain was becoming a bit numb from the thoughts swirling in his head.  Add to them the picture that it was Neville and Luna who would have been using the books suggestions…yes, well, Harry decided to stop that train of thought right there.

A few more packages followed containing various products full of veiled and not-so-veiled innuendo. Charlie’s gift of a new dragon-hide leather jacket seemed innocent enough until he found the silk scarves that filled the pockets. His eyes had gone even wider as he shot a glance to the second oldest Weasley boy. With a wink, Charlie informed him that he thought Harry might have needed some help ‘not being in control of every damn situation.’ He had wanted to die on the spot. George and Percy had gifted him with several things from their ‘adults-only’ line. Having seen them in the store, Harry’s mouth went dry at the images the flitted through his mind.

“All right, time out you lot,” he managed to croak out. “You all do remember that I am marrying your baby sister. You know, charming little red-head that you all were oh-so-protective of earlier?”

“Funny you should ask, oh soon-to-be-brother in law. There is a method to our madness.” Percy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and fixed Harry with a level look. “We’re not stupid; we know you and Ginny love each other—and that you can’t keep your hands off one another. So instead of getting mad about it, we’ve decided to make sure that you both . . . enjoy married life as much as possible.”

Harry felt Charlie’s meaty hand land on his shoulder and glanced behind him to see the older man bearing a grin that didn’t entirely reach his eyes.  “Because, Potter, if we ever get any inkling that Ginny is anything short of ecstatic in this marriage, we’ll kill you.”

Taking a moment to look at the serious expressions that suddenly covered every freckled face in the room, Harry burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself, and had to take heaping gulps of air in order to begin his explanation. “If you all think it’s you I’m going to be worried about, you’re barking! In the first place, I’d never do anything to hurt Ginny, and in the second place, if I ever did I’m pretty sure she’d kill me before any of you even got the chance!”

A tense moment passed before George snorted as he took another shot of Ogden’s finest. “The man has a point, if Ginny’s send her Bat Bogey Hex at me and Fred for melting one of her dolls, imagine what she’d do if she thought Harry was mistreating her!”

The laughter that filled the room was purely male, and Harry grabbed the next present from the stack. A hastily dashed card let him know it was from Ron, and when he opened it he found yet another frame, although this one had many pictures in it. It was a collection of pictures of him and Ron over the years. From a shot taken by Dean with a Muggle camera their first year, all the way to the clowning around shot at their ‘graduation party’ from Auror training.  Tears pricked green eyes as Harry ran a thumb over the edge of the frame before he blinked them away. He sought out Ron’s gaze and sent him a huge smile.

“Well, I just thought that you know, with you getting married and all. . .” Ron’s cheeks went pink to match his ears, “. . . I wanted you to know that it doesn’t change the fact that you’re my best mate. Even if you are marrying my ruddy sister for some reason, which takes more Gryffindor courage than chasing after those Horcruxes seventh year . . .”

As everyone else laughed, Harry caught Ron’s eye once more. He hoped that his appreciation showed in his gaze, as well as a silent promise that just because he was getting married didn’t mean he’d forget Ron. This evening certainly had been emotional and Harry wasn’t sure how much more he could take when Ron levitated the final package to him.

“Last one, mate.”

Harry only nodded woodenly and ripped off the red paper with snitches whizzing around it.  He sighed a bit in relief when he found a simple pair of black silk boxers inside.  They weren’t so bad.  In fact, the fabric felt rather nice.  Ginny’d been after him for a long time to get a pair for himself.  What would they feel like on, he wondered as he fingered the silky material.  Being somewhat distracted, he missed grabbing them as George snatched them from his hands and swung them around on his finger, wolf whistles and jeering filling the room.

Harry laughed and made a half-hearted grab for them.  The box on his lap shifted and something peeked out from underneath the white tissue paper the underwear had been wrapped in.  Harry grabbed it and peered at what appeared to be a photograph of some sort.  Except that it was very dark and only a faint glow from what appeared to be black boxer shorts could be seen.  Pulling the photograph so close that it was nearly touching his nose, Harry gapped at it.  Glowing pygmy puffs could be seen dancing around the shorts in the photo.

And then it flashed to a lit shot.

Harry grunted and his eyes flew wide as the true photograph was revealed to him.  There was Ginny, wearing nothing except his new boxers…and grinning radiantly at him.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed, pulling the photo closer to him.  But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it as the image darkened again…glowing Pygmy Puffs…and then Ginny in all her glory.

“Whatcha got there, Harry?” Seamus asked leaning over to see the photo Harry was glued to.

“Ahh, erm…” Harry stood abruptly, pressing the photograph to his chest and then quickly slipping it underneath his jumper before any of the Weasleys could see it.  “It’s …it’s nothing.”  His heart rate increased just thinking about what was pressed to his chest.

‘Damn that woman,’ he growled internally.  Except, he couldn’t help the thrill that shot through him knowing that she’d done something so…scandalous just for him.  In fact, he had to admit that it did more than a little to turn him on.

“Oi!  I think these things glow in the dark,” George called out as he flicked his wand and dimmed the lights.

“No!” Harry called out too late.

Raucous laughter filled the room when the glowing fuzzy menaces were seen dancing around the shorts.  Harry quickly tucked the photograph into the waistband of his trousers and pulled his wand, summoning the shorts and stuffing them into his back pockets.

“Aww, come on,” Charlie protested even as someone lit the room again.

“What’s with the Pygmy Puffs?” Neville asked.  “I don’t get it.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed.  “They’ve been around here all night.”

“It’s…it’s a private joke,” Harry tried lamely.  He dared a glance over at Ron, all thoughts of reassuring his best mate gone as he prayed Ron could sense Harry’s thoughts of castration should his best friend embarrass him even further would deter Ron.

His hopes were dashed when Ron grinned evily and tossed back a shot of golden Firewhiskey.  Harry sighed and quickly poured himself a shot.

“Well, it seems that Ginny calls Harry her little Pygmy Puff,” Ron laughed.

Merlin, Harry groaned, the wanker was truly enjoying this.

“That’s…that’s not on, mate,” Seamus gaped.

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed.  “I can see a hippogriff or a gryphon or something more…”

“Manly,” Charlie agreed with a somewhat disgusted look.

Harry only grimaced as he tossed back the drink and poured another generous shot.

“I thought Ginny said it was Ron that had a thing for Pygmy Puffs,” Neville asked.

Harry sighed, knowing that he was going to have to shoot this down or he’d never live to see the end of it.

“Harry, surely you can get her to find something more…macho,” Dean suggested.

“Yeah, Harry, wasn’t it her who said you had a tattoo of a Hungarian Horntail?” Ron teased.  Harry could tell he was enjoying every second of his friend’s humiliation.  “Maybe she got a look at you finally and decided that a dragon was over-rating it a bit much.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair as the others guffawed mightily.  There was nothing for it, he decided.  Damn his pride, he was going to take care of this once and for all.

“Ron,” he began, letting a smug grin spread across his features, “if you truly knew what that Pygmy Puff meant, and the . . . circumstances in which that nickname came about, you’d never say anything about it to me again.”

Ron’s laughter faded and he looked confused for a moment before he glanced up at Harry’s face.  

“Must I elaborate?’ Harry asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Ron’s Adam’s apple bobbed a few times and he twitched, possibly going over the possibilities in his mind. All the color drained out of his face, and he looked as if he were going to be sick. Harry hoped he wouldn’t have to pull out the big ammunition.  It seemed, however, that Ron’s mind had finally settled on a picture as he grimaced and shivered all over.

“Don’t forget that it’s your sister that I’m marrying,” Harry said as he passed his drink over to Ron, watching as he tossed it back in one movement.

“Never be mentioned again, mate,” Ron assured him in a hoarse voice and walked away.

****

Once Harry had thanked his mates for coming and made sure they’d all taken their Portkeys home before he wandered over toward the makeshift bar.  A blissful haze filled his mind and he felt nothing but an overall fondness for everyone who’d come that night.  It may have been the several shots of Firewhisky he’d consumed, but he preferred to think it had just been a good night.

“Everyone make it out alright?” Ron asked as he played with the empty shot glass from his last round of Firewhisky.  Harry nodded, scrunching his eyes as he tried to remember how much Ron had actually had to drink tonight.  Then again, he’d always been able to drink Harry under the table.

“George and Hagrid were the last ones.  I think I can still hear them, actually,” he mused, listening closely for the faint sound of drunken singing coming from further and further away.  “Think George’ll stay there,” he shrugged.

“Hopefully,” Ron said quietly and Harry watched as he slid his fingers up and down the glass in front of him, pushing water droplets down to form a pool at the base of the now empty drink.

”Listen, Ron, I wanted to say…well, thanks.  For tonight and everything else.”  Harry shifted awkwardly, and then scratched at the item that was rubbing against his belly.  His hand froze when he remembered exactly what it was.

“It wasn’t a problem, mate,” Ron said with a slow smile.  “I was happy to do it for you.”

Harry sat down next to Ron and leaned heavily on the table.  “Ron, I know it’s not any of my business, but…are you and Hermione going to be alright?”

Ron rubbed his eyes harshly and shrugged.  “I don’t know, Harry.  I just don’t know.  I thought…everything was going so good, you know.  That first week…and then…”  He shrugged as he trailed off.

Harry sighed and ruffled his hair.  “I know that Ginny and me moving up the date for the wedding hasn’t helped.  And Hermione’s kind of taken over, hasn’t she?” He chuckled but Ron didn’t seem to find it funny at all.  “Ron, honestly, I can talk to her if you want.  I mean, it’s been great that she’s been helping Ginny and all.  But neither of us wants to cause problems between you and Hermione.  It’s just…it’s just a wedding, Ron.  It’s not worth…whatever is going on with you two.”

Ron finally turned and faced him and Harry knew that he’d at least said something right.  “I know.  And I appreciate it, mate.  I think…well, we’ll just have to work it out, you know.  But it’s more than just a wedding at this point; at least it is for the maid of honor. I think a lot of it is just Hermione.  She wants to make up for being gone for so long, you know.  She and Ginny were always close and I think she thinks if she throws herself into your wedding she can…”

“Yeah,” Harry said and nodded slowly.  “I guess you might be right.”

“And I…well, I’ve been a git.”  Ron snorted out a humorless laugh.  “I’ve been demanding and…just awful.  But she’s been just as bad.”  Harry couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.  “She’s cut me off, Harry.”

“Cut you…? Oh, oh!”  Harry’s face heated again and he quickly glanced around, looking for anyone to help him out and completely forgetting that everyone had already gone.  He couldn’t even hear George and Hagrid’s bawdy song any longer.

“Yep,” Ron confirmed as he drained the rest of the drink and slid the glass around.  “And I’m completely buggered, Harry.  I can’t… I think about her all the time, you know.”

Harry shifted around uncomfortably, thinking of any way he could change the subject.  “Ron?”

“She’s so caught up in the bloody ceremony and I hardly get to see her anymore. It’s like picking out the color of tulle is more important than seeing me and it’s driving me mad. I thought we’d get to know one another again now that she’s home and I feel like I saw her more when we were writing one another. . .”

Waves of relief hit Harry as he realized when Ron said ‘cut off’ he wasn’t referring to sex (a concept he certainly didn’t want to connect with Hermione at all!) but rather it was the emotional closeness that his best friend so clearly missed. The relief was sharply mingled with a tinge of fear—Harry didn’t really know how to talk about that kind of thing.  It was hard enough working on that part of his and Ginny’s relationship.

Heaving a sigh, Harry ran a finger around the edge of his glass before deciding to take a stab at the whole advice thing. “I’m sure that will come back to the two of you after the wedding is over. Hermione’s thrown herself into this full throttle because she probably sees it as a chance to make up being gone for a year to Ginny, like you said. Knowing Hermione, she’s decided that she’s got forever to spend with you and she probably figured that you’d feel the same and understand about it. You two love each other to distraction, you have for ages. Just let her do this for Ginny and be patient, it’s not as if Hermione is going any where. Now can we get off the subject of the girls? Any more of this mushy talk on my Stag Night and I’m bound to be sick. Seriously, Ron,” Harry complained miserably, “my lunch…all over this counter, mate.”

“But I can’t…”  Ron seemed to shake it off and Harry sighed in relief.  “I’ve got to fix this, Harry.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I stay at your place tonight?” Ron asked, shooting an embarrassed glance at Harry.  The dark haired wizard hesitated in answering for a moment, fairly sure that Ginny might be waiting for him.

”Sure,” he answered.  There would be no way he could ever turn Ron down.  They’d just have to be judicious with the silencing spells.

 

***

Ron wearily made his way up the creaking stairs of Grimmauld Place to his old room. He was grateful that the night had gone over so well—including the only slightly awkward conversation with Harry at the end. The two of them generally steered clear of discussing ‘those’ feelings, but it was nice to know that Harry had faith in him. He knew that things with Hermione were going to take work, but now Ron had hope that they would make it through.

As he opened the door to his room and looked around, his heart froze in his chest and a light sweat broke out on his forehead. Her tear-stained face relaxed in sleep as she clutched one of his old Cannon’s shirts to her chest made him long to draw near her and offer what comfort he could. Ron took a near silent step toward Hermione, but a treacherous floorboard squeaked and her brown eyes snapped open.

Seeing the sadness etched in the chocolate depths of her eyes, Ron felt a piece of his heart break. “Oh, Mione . . . “

 

 


	8. Chapter 8 - Living in a Sea of Confusion

The blank page taunted Hermione. For the past three hours she had been unable to do any work whatsoever. She had returned from her luncheon meeting fully intending to put the finishing details on her report concerning possible job opportunities for freed House Elves. Of course, the report's deadline was still two weeks away, but Hermione prided herself on staying ahead of her work schedule. Absent mindedly, she opened her left desk drawer to look at a rather well used accordion file. As usual, the familiar object soothed her frazzled nerves and allowed her mind a bit of space to breathe. 

 

It was a habit she had begun at Hogwarts. Hermione had kept folders of completed assignments in a neatly organized accordion file that was always at her side when studying. It allowed her to have at least a small amount of routine during her rather hectic school career. The accordion file had provided her with a haven of sorts. 

 

Granted, that wasn't to say that it had been anything approaching private-her two best friends had made sure of that. Once her boys had discovered the nature of the accordion file, it became a magical aid for all of their homework. And despite her constant lectures on the importance of academic integrity, Hermione had rarely been able to resist Harry and Ron's pleas for assistance. Under the combination of Harry's practically patented 'poor orphan boy' look and Ron's lop-sided grin she would usually cave. Hermione would allow them to go over her work for fifteen minutes before insisting that they go work on their own assignments. And of course, the boys would go off to start their own work with limited grumbling, but generally only _after_ Ron paused to sing her praises. 

 

Back at school, such antics from Ron would have caused her stomach to become a habitat for madly dashing butterflies and her brain a home for fanciful daydreams. Now, these memories caused her stomach to clench in frustration and filled her heart with a sense of loss. 

 

Everything between her and Ronald seemed so difficult lately. It was as if they had lost the ability to simply be with one another, some unnamed tension straining their interactions. To make matters worse, she simply could not get her brain to leave her personal life at home. Thoughts of Ron drifted through her head at all hours of the day, regardless of whatever she really wanted to be doing. 

 

_Damn_ Ronald Weasley! She knew he was the real reason for her current inability to focus. Hermione slammed the book she was reading shut and cast aside her quill with an unexpected vehemence. Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back in her chair and heaved a sigh of pure frustration. 

 

"Hermione, dear, are you all right?" Opening her eyes, Hermione discovered the grey-headed secretary of the department standing cautiously in her open doorway. Seeing the concern in his grey-green eyes, she instantly felt guilty about her miniature temper tantrum. 

 

"Oh I'm so sorry for worrying you, Mr. Aldridge, but I'm quite all right. I just can't seem to keep my concentration this afternoon and I'm a bit flustered." 

 

The older wizard gave Hermione a knowing look and a nod of his head. "Well then, if you're having so much trouble working, I think its time you went home. Go on, up you get-you're officially taking the rest of the afternoon off." 

 

"But there's still so much to do on the-" Hermione stopped her protests at a raised hand from Mr. Aldridge. 

 

"On work that's not needed for another three weeks? Nonsense. Up you get, you've piled far too much work on yourself lately. The world will continue to function if you skive off for an afternoon; Merlin knows everyone else in the Ministry has done it at some point or another." 

 

Despite her protests, Hermione very quickly found herself standing outside her office, her bag in one hand (which was much lighter due to the fact that Mr. Aldridge had removed all of her work labeled 'take home') and her cloak and scarf in the other. She tried a few more feeble arguments, but when Mr. Aldridge looked at her over the rim of his glasses as he locked her office door, she knew she had well and truly lost this particular battle. Though if she were to be honest with herself, Hermione recognized that there were very few arguments with this particular opponent in which she emerged the victor. No one in the department really had the heart to argue too fiercely with Thomas Aldridge. 

 

The kindly older wizard had once been a distinguished forerunner in this department. After his retirement, Mr. Aldridge had spent a few years travelling with his wife before they had settled back in London. To hear him tell the tale, his wife had forced him to return to work because she could not stand his incessant 'puttering around the house,' but Hermione knew that his brain was simply far too active to be content in retirement. He served as a veritable well of information on various topics-and not necessarily ones that were completely work-related. 

 

Mr. Aldridge seemed to enjoy his position in the department, and found various ways to take care of those workers that were deemed his favorites. He had taken an instant liking to Hermione, and was always there to take care of her even when she thought it was unnecessary. She could not resist smiling softly as her colleague took her cloak from her to help her put it on. 

 

"You know, Mr. Aldridge, you're just encouraging bad habits. What will you do if I decide that I _like_ not being at work on Friday afternoons?" 

 

Mr. Aldridge chuckled with laughter, "Perish the thought! The role-model worker becoming a slacker? I highly doubt that's a probability, dear. Now listen here, whatever it is that's got your attention, I suggest you find it, talk to it, and straighten things out so you can come back to work next week ready to continue your plans for changing our world. Off with you now, go home and relax!" 

 

Hermione felt the blush creep up her cheeks as she stammered a thank you to the older wizard. Turning away, her feet went on auto-pilot towards the Apparation point while her brain tried once again to solve the puzzle of Ron Weasley. 

 

Their interactions lately had been so forced, so increasingly awkward. While he still entertained her with stories of his daily life when they were together, the time they got to spend alone was very limited due to work and the upcoming wedding. A disgusted snort escaped her as she thought of Ron's eyes rolling whenever an owl arrived from Ginny asking for help with one project or another. 

 

Hermione knew it wasn't a matter of a change of heart-she loved Ron like mad and could not wait to be with him forever, but she could not stand the immature displays he was pulling lately. She knew he was frustrated at the amount of time she was spending working on Harry and Ginny's wedding, but for the life of her she could not understand his reasoning behind it. 

 

Didn't he see how important it was for the wedding to go smoothly? What with Harry's international fame as the Boy Who Lived and Ginny's increasing celebrity due to her Quidditch skills, their wedding was liable to be a bloody nightmare if not planned out down to the last detail. When Ginny had appointed her maid of honor Hermione _knew_ this was going to be an involved process due to the high level of emotions that would run through the event. Mum-Weasley would want a traditional affair with all of the ruffles and frills since Ginny was her only daughter, and Hermione had known that the youngest Weasley was not about to let her mother plan _everything_ about her wedding day. Hermione had always been the organizer among her friends it was simply what she did. She could not understand why her fiancé-the decorated strategic master of the Aurors-was having such a hard time understanding this. 

 

Hermione casually waved to several familiar faces as she waited in the queue for the Apparation point. As she moved her hand back to her side, she caught herself staring once again at the engagement ring Ron had given her. She felt a pang of longing shoot through her heart. How she wished she had her old Time Turner so that she could go back to the first week of their engagement. She and Ron had spent every moment together, not doing anything particularly special, but relishing in one another's company. It had been like living in a fairy tale . . . 

 

As she moved into the Apparation point, Hermione bit her bottom lip in consternation over her last thought. She stood there for several moments, calculating the implications and their consequences as she fell into a reverie. Eventually, the young woman checking Ministry ID's at the Apparation point brought her back to work by gently shaking her. 

 

"Ms. Granger? Are you quite all right?" Hermione's eyes refocused on the concerned visage of the young woman. Stammering her apology, Hermione focused her thoughts on her flat and quickly Apparated. 

 

Once she was in the safety of her home, Hermione quickly forgot all sense of routine. She dropped her bag and cloak in the middle of the hall rather than putting them neatly away. The resulting thud drew Crookshanks away from his favorite afternoon sunbeam to see what was going on in his home. Hermione merely muttered a quick "'lo, Shanks," before making a bee line for the kitchen. 

 

The cool blast of air that hit her as she opened the freezer was slightly refreshing, if only because it brought her that much closer to her goal. The pint of ice cream was hidden under the healthy frozen meals she trusted herself to cook, waiting for an emergency. Her mind traveling back to the thought that had occurred to her at the Ministry, Hermione figured that now was the perfect time to open it. After all, the possibility that she had turned into a heinous woman who alienated her own fiancé did seem like a wound only ice cream could heal. 

 

Perhaps Ron's feelings of being neglected were not totally unfounded. She had spent considerably less and less time with him as the month had gone on, and the two of them seemed to row at the drop of a hat. _That_ thought made her rush to get a spoon and head to her favorite chair in the living room, though she nearly tripped over Crookshanks in the process. Hermione flopped down into the perfectly worn leather arm chair and dug into her ice cream with a vengeance. 

 

Had she really been so wrapped up in Harry and Ginny's wedding that she had allowed things to turn so sour with Ron? Images from the past month flooded her mind-all of the cancelled lunch dates, nights where she had come home from wedding planning sessions to find Ron already asleep in their bed, and then the awful row from the previous week. . . Disgusted with herself, Hermione set her ice cream down on an end table and held her head in her hands. 

 

She vaguely felt the impact of Crookshanks jumping into her lap, but continued to silently cry into her hands. It was only when the half-kneazle began to need his paws into the front of her jumper that she accepted the comfort being offered. She was forcibly reminded of the countless times at Hogwarts that 'Shanks had comforted her when she was crying over Ron. Rather than make her feel better, this memory just caused her to cry harder into the cat's ginger fur. 

 

Thinking of Hogwarts _did_ have an added benefit, however. Hermione realized that she was not going to solve whatever was wrong between her and Ron by crying about it. She kissed the top of Crookshanks' head before setting him on the floor, her brain already whizzing with a plot. She knew that _something_ wasn't right, and she knew she was partially to blame, but the trouble was, she didn't even know how to begin to fix it. Hermione felt helpless as she gazed around her small flat, until a brilliant idea popped into her head. 

 

There were two people in the world that knew Ron as well or better than she did. One would be occupied at the thrice-damned Stag Night, but the other was probably sitting in the Burrow arguing with her mother over flowers for the wedding. While such things were important, Hermione decided that Ginny could take some time from this particular battle with her mother to offer some advice. The chestnut haired witch crossed to her fireplace, grabbed some Floo Powder and took a moment to wipe away the remnants of her tears. With a determined look on her face, she made the Floo call to the Burrow, knowing what she needed more than anything right now was some decent girl talk. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

 

Two hours later Hermione found herself in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place laughing so hard that her sides _ached._ Ginny was fervently waiving a piece of Nutella-covered shortbread (a treat Hermione had hooked her on earlier in the month) around, mimicking her mother's voice perfectly. 

 

"'George Weasley! Just WHAT do you think you are doing with that poor young woman? She has to be so horrified that you feel free to bring her to this house yet haven't even had the decency to introduce her to your family yet!'" Ginny's voice returned to her normal register as she continued, "And so then George decides to tell Mum that she and Dad have known Angelina for _year_ s which really got Mum going. I cannot _believe_ he was stupid enough to be doing _tha_ t in his old room without a decent locking charm. I mean, honestly!" 

 

Hermione tittered, "From how you're describing the event, it sounds as if a decent silencing charm might have served them better." Hermione watched as an embarrassed flush ran up Ginny's cheeks, and wondered at the cause for it before moving on to her question. "Did Mum-Weasley really burst into the room with her wand at the ready?" 

 

Munching on the cookie, Ginny nodded emphatically, "She looked like she was going after Bellatrix all over again. And you would have burst in too if you'd heard Angie's scream. I was sure she'd broken something, though apparently I could not have been more wrong." The deliberate wag of Ginny's eyebrows set Hermione off on another fit of giggles, her mind easily getting a clear mental picture of Molly Weasley's rage. 

 

Smiling, Ginny reached for the kettle to pour Hermione another pot of tea. "Good, now that we've waded through the small talk and I've gotten you to stop vibrating through patented Weasley humor, how about you tell me what's bothering you?" 

 

Hermione's brow wrinkled as she levitated two sugar cubes into her tea. Taking a deep breath, she cast a desperate look at Ginny and found a pair of understanding hazel eyes gazing back at her. Perhaps this would not be as difficult as she had been expecting it to be. 

 

"I don't know, Gin, everything between Ron and I has been so strange ever since, well, since New Year's. It was like once I started to work on your wedding he became this jealous creature, and kept insisting that I was pushing him away, ignoring him. And the frightening thing is I think he might have been right. And if he is right, what does that mean? I love Ron like mad, but if that's the case then why have I spent all of this time away from him? I've cancelled lunch dates, deliberately provoked him into arguments... On the one hand I feel as if I should have the right to busy myself doing whatever I want, and on the other, I think I've truly been a horrible fiancée. I wouldn't even blame him if he was regretting asking me to marry him, really. I-I just don't know what to do." Hermione shakily set her tea down on the table and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. The emotion of the day's discovery was getting to her, and she really didn't have any better way to put it all into words. 

 

Gentle hands tugged at her wrists, and Hermione looked up to find Ginny smiling at her, an air of comfort in her brown eyes. In that moment, Hermione marveled how her friend had gained her mother's almost instinctual ability to soothe. Ginny's left hand had settled on Hermione's shoulder while the other pushed a chestnut curl behind her ear. Straightening, Ginny patted Hermione's knee before beginning to speak. 

 

"Oh Hermione, I doubt you've been a horrid fiancée. I also _highly_ doubt Ron's regretting proposing to you. You have let yourself get rather wrapped up in my wedding, though." 

 

"I couldn't h-h-h-help it," Hermione hiccupped as the tears began to fall. "I wanted to make up for being gone for so long and then ignoring you once I got back. Ron and I were in our own little world and-" 

 

"As if Harry and I weren't in our own universe that entire week? He proposed to me a second time after Christmas, did I tell you? Told me he had been inspired by watching how happy you and Ron were, and that he didn't want to have to wait until the summer to get married." 

 

Hermione barely whispered, "I'd had no idea." 

 

Nodding, Ginny replied, "Harry said he loved to watch Ron with you. That it was like watching all of the puzzle pieces finally be put into place. But we're not talking about Harry and me right now, we're talking about you and Ron." Hermione started to protest, not wanting to feel selfish, but bit back her words when Ginny sent her a stern look. Knowing she had no say in the matter, Hermione gestured for Ginny to continue. 

 

"You're not the first woman to get engaged and then want a bit of space, Hermione. I remember feeling like I was smothered by the engagement-as if I'd ceased being myself and instead became Mrs. Harry Potter. And it wasn't that I don't desperately love Harry, because I do. But I panicked shortly after the engagement and threw myself into training with a renewed focus and vigor. Harry wasn't as patient as Ron however, and demanded to know what was up about a week into all of this. Long story short, we ended up . . . solving things in our own matter after a nice long talk." 

 

"I trust that the two of you remembered the silencing charm your older brother forgot?" Hermione bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing as she quirked an eyebrow in Ginny's direction. To her surprise, her best friend was soon covered by the trademark Weasley blush, and seemed to be at a loss for words. "Ginny, you didn't!?!" 

 

"Well, it started out as this argument and we were really getting into it-full fledged screaming row to rival on of your's and Ron's bests-when I just grabbed him and kissed him. We weren't exactly planning on anything to happen when we started fighting, so neither one of us thought to cast the damn silencing spell. Let me tell you, sitting across from Ron while he shoveled his beans and toast in his mouth the next morning was the most awkward moment in my life. I think it was a full week before he spoke to me again." 

 

"Wait, you mean you were here?! Upstairs!? And Ron was in his . . . Oh, Merlin!" Hermione could hardly comprehend what she was hearing. 

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Ginny gave a throaty laugh, "Trust me, Harry and I have pretty much perfected silencing spells since then." 

 

Hermione sat, shaking her head in disbelief. After a moment she got brave again and came back to the topic she found so difficult to talk about. "What do I say to him, Gin? It's not like I can erase the awkwardness of the past month with a simple apology. I, I even told him not to come home tonight after the Stag Party. It was in that awful note I wrote to him right before our lunch planning session-I told him to ask Harry if he could stay here. I feel so wretched about the entire thing." The weight of this experience felt like it was crushing Hermione's chest, and without warning the tears that had been falling freely down her face transformed into full fledged sobs. 

 

In the flash of an eye she found herself in Ginny's arms, with the younger woman rubbing soothing circles on her back and humming softly. Hermione allowed herself to cry, but immediately began to make herself calm down. Coming apart in front of Ginny was hardly fair-after all, Hermione considered herself to be the person who was there to offer support, not the one searching for it. She shifted in Ginny's embrace to take a few deep breaths, and pulled away enough to give her friend a weary smile. 

 

"Thanks, Ginny, I think I just ought to go home and lie down for a while. Ron and I will talk it out tomorrow. . ." 

 

"There is no way that you are going home in this state, Hermione. You're exhausted, physically and emotionally. Come on, you said you told Ron to come here after the Stag Night. Why don't you go up to his room and wait for him to get here? Go on, you can get some rest, and a bit later I'll come up and check on you and bring some food. Up you come, no arguing, now." 

 

"You know, even if you don't always take it as a compliment, you are more like your mother than you know." 

 

Ginny blushed and nodded her thanks. Hermione smiled at her friend as she stood, grateful for the offer of rest and a bit of space to clear her head before she encountered Ron again. She had a feeling it would do her a world of good. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

 

What she hadn't counted on was that Ron's room at Grimmauld Place was so _him_. Posters of the Chudley Cannons warred for wall space with the veritable photo album he'd put on his wall with permanent sticking charms. Various scenes at the Burrow caused her to laugh at Weasley antics while a lump rose in her throat. 

 

The lump had transformed into heartfelt sobs when she discovered that closest to the bed were a collection of photos of the two of them together over the years. She allowed her fingers to trace the edge of a snapshot of the two of them at his 'graduation' from Auror training, watching as picture-Ron lifted picture-Hermione up and spun her around in circles. She remembered how she had chided him for rumpling their formal robes while a blush flooded her face. It was a foolish thing to fight with him about, she admitted, gazing at the look of obvious glee they both had in the picture. 

 

The final straw, though, had been finding one of his old Cannons shirts tossed onto the bed in a typically careless-Ron fashion. Truly, she had meant to merely fold it and put it away, but she could not resist the temptation of holding it to her. As she pulled it to her the outdoorsy smell that she identified as simply Ron overwhelmed her. With a strangled sob, Hermione had collapsed onto the bed and allowed herself to cry as she had not in years. There was no one else to worry about, no appearances to keep up, it was just her and the aching sadness in her chest. Lying there with Ron's shirt hugged to her, Hermione cried herself to sleep as she worried over what was happening between the two of them. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

 

The sound of a floorboard creaking woke Hermione from her fitful slumber, and she rose expecting to see Ginny come in to check on her. As she blinked the sleep from her eyes, it became apparent that this was not the case, as Ginny certainly wasn't over six-feet tall, nor did she have those piercing blue eyes. . . With a shock she realized Ron was home, and a tiny gasp escaped her when she realized how he had found her. 

 

"Oh, Mione. . ." 

 

The air in the room thickened with tension as the two young lovers stared at each other. Sitting on the bed with his old t-shirt balled into her hands, Hermione battled with her emotions. She was fighting a war, trying to decide between throwing a fit at Ron for his earlier snarky letter, and throwing herself at him in appreciation for the love and concern she heard in his voice. 

 

When he shot a nervous grin at her and spread his palms in a typical Ron gesture of apology a strangled sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob escaped her throat. Hermione recalled her earlier conversation with Ginny, and decided that all the petty words and fights were not worth the emotional havoc she was wreaking within herself. Without a word, she practically leaped off of the bed to get into Ron's arms as quickly as possible. Steady hands caught her and strong arms held her close, and she could feel him take a shaky breath of relief as she began to cover his face and neck with kisses, her hands entwined behind his neck. 

 

With every kiss she murmured an apology for her actions, begging him not to go anywhere. She was almost frantic in her need to convey to Ron how much he meant for her, desperate to prove that she loved him now as much as she had on the day he proposed to her. Hermione didn't stop until Ron used his long arms to separate the two of them, and she groaned in frustration. 

 

"Mione, love, what is it? What in the name of Merlin's beard are you apologizing for?" 

 

Ron's face was scrunched up in confusion, and she desperately wished he would set her hands free so she could push his fringe out of his eyes. Somewhere in her brain it clicked that if she wanted him to take her seriously she was going to have to be the logical Hermione that had been explaining things to him since they were eleven. Despite herself, she could not help the shaky nature of her voice, which was already raw from crying. 

 

"Oh Ron, I'm apologizing for being such a wretched fiancée. Here I've gotten totally gotten caught up in being the perfect Maid-of-Honor, and as a result I've ignored the best thing that's ever happened to me. I can't understand how you've put up with it, and I don't really have a decent way to explain it. I just...I've been truly awful, haven't I?" She felt his arms loosen their grip as he processed what she was saying. What she liked to term as his "Analyzing Auror" face stared down at her, and Hermione readied herself for the worst. 

 

"I can't say that I completely disagree with that sentiment. Especially with all of those letters you sent back and forth at the office . . ." 

 

Hermione felt her anger flare, "Ronald Weasley! I was not the only one responsible for that, and you know it! I cannot believe that you would even suggest . . ." It was then that she saw what he was doing, deliberately working her up to show her that there was blame to be had on both sides and in doing so reassuring her that everything would be okay. With a grateful laugh she moved back into the sheltering circle of his arms, and as she did he began to stroke her hair soothingly. 

 

"Hush, Mione, I know. We've both been pretty rotten lately, and I guess it's just the stress of life getting to us. I mean, it's not like we can spend all of our lives like that first week . . ." 

 

"I was thinking about that today too." Hermione spoke into his chest. "I didn't realize that being together would ever be any different than that. I thought we would just, you know, fit." She took comfort in the rumbling chuckle that escaped Ron. 

 

"Oh, love, no one gets to have that kind of picture perfect life. People are people, they don't always agree on everything and live in a state of perfection-however much certain people might like that." Hermione playfully smacked his chest at this point, happy to feel the knot of tension that had been rising in her chest ease just a bit. "Just because you and I row doesn't mean we don't love each other. In fact I am pretty sure it's how we expressed that love without knowing it for a long time." He kissed the top of her head, and Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she had been holding. 

 

"I am sorry I have been gone so much lately, Ron. I just want to make something beautiful for Harry and Ginny; I think they deserve to have a day to remember. I didn't mean to get so caught up in it that you felt like you were less important." She pulled away from him enough to gaze up into his eyes, and felt her tummy flutter happily when he gave her that lopsided grin she so loved. 

 

"Well, I reckon I have a few things to apologize for as well then. You know how much I don't like change, and with Harry getting married I just feel like this huge chapter on my life is closing. I don't really think being an adult was every truly real to me until now, and I'm not sure how much I like it. So instead of talking to you about it, I got snarky and annoyed you as much as possible about the wedding. I don't think the ceremony is stupid, you know. I just think it's what comes after that, the life together, that's really more important." 

 

It was with that comment that Hermione realized that everything between them truly was going to be all right. Yes, they would fight-they always had and she was quite sure there would be days when she would love to strangle him. But worrying over the fact that their love was not fairy tale perfect would only serve to make her heartsick. She needed to learn to live in the moment, and appreciate what it was she had before her. 

 

And at this _particular_ moment, what she had before her was a very tall, incredibly handsome, loving, caring fiancé. And she decided it was high time she paid some more attention to him. An evil grin crossed her features, and she stood on tip toe to begin laying gentle kisses along Ron's collar bone and at the base of his neck. 

 

"So, dear, how was the stag party?" Her innocent question was coupled with her hands sliding underneath Ron's shirt so that her fingers could play lightly over his back. She took him take a hissing breath, and grinned against his skin, losing herself in his heady scent. 

 

"Oh, it went wonderfully well. Learned more from Neville than I ever truly wanted to know-you should see some of the gifts that Harry got. _Gods_ , Mione, that's not fair-how can you expect a chap to tell a story when you do things like that!" Hermione beamed like a cat with cream she nibbled at the other side of his neck. Looking up at him, she bit her lower lip slowly while arching her brows. 

 

She watched Ron's eyes fill with desire and as he bent to kiss her she whispered against his lips, "Frankly, dear, I don't." 

 

They became entangled in the kiss and a desperate need to get their clothes off, to show one another physically how much they had missed truly being together these past few weeks. When Ron elicited a particularly loud moan from Hermione, she noticed him grasping for his wand to cast a silencing charm. Quickly she grabbed his wrist and shook her head. He looked at her questioningly, and she couldn't help the girlish giggle that escaped her. 

 

"Don't cast it-just imagine their faces tomorrow at breakfast." Ron groaned and pulled her into another passionate kiss, his tongue entwining with hers eagerly. Hermione let her fingers run through his hair, loving the heady desire that filled her. 

 

When he finally pulled back from the kiss, he breathlessly said, "Brilliant, but scary as always. I love you so much, Hermione." 

 

"I love you even more, Ron." 

 

"Doubt that," Ron said with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

 

"Prove it," replied Hermione, sticking out her tongue. 

 

And for the next several hours, the young couple lost themselves in a pointless competition of showing one another just how much love there truly was between them. By all accounts, it truly was a tie.


	9. Chapter 9

Ron was fighting a losing battle in a war that he never could seem to win. Despite the assurances he had taken the night before to close all of the curtains, a single ray of sunlight had managed to pry its way through a tiny crack in the fabric. Of course, this finger of light was dancing right on his tightly shut eyes. Colored lights danced in his field of vision as he resisted the growing sense of wakefulness spreading through his body.

Groaning softly, he found himself longing for the days when he had been able to sleep gleefully until well past noon. Auror training had forcibly broken him of thatÑthough it was a joke in the department that he had been the most difficult recruit to rouse from bed during the initial training camps. Now his body frequently woke on its own at an hour he would have once considered highly unnatural, and he was rarely able to indulge himself with a lie in. Ron not only had that luxury today, but he had the perfect person with who to waste away a day in bed. The sun, however, seemed to have other ideas. 

The bed squeaked as Ron shifted to get the sunlight out of his face, slowly opening his eyes. His arm tightened around HermioneÕs sleeping form, and he had to resist the urge to lay soft kisses all along her shoulders and neck. He knew they had passed some sort of test last night, and he desperately wanted to show her how happy he was at the fact. However, he knew it was rare indeed that Hermione would allow herself to sleep without an alarm to bring her into another completely full day. While he loved the idea of waking her with tender caresses and whispered words of love, he knew she desperately needed this rest. He, however, was wide-awake and there was nothing for it. 

As his stomach growled loud enough to illicit a murmured protest from Hermione, an idea struck Ron and he gently eased himself out of bed. Breakfast was sounding like an excellent idea, and if he brought some up to Hermione she just might be more likely to listen to his newly formulated plot of a lazy day in bed for the two of them. Merlin, but he loved Saturdays!

He was not very surprised to hear the whistle of the kettle as he made his way into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Seeing Harry bustling about the kitchen did come as a bit of a shock, as he had no memory of ever seeing his best friend cook breakfast for as long as they had known each other.

Harry was able to get up, have a quick cup of tea and a granola bar, and head off to work. Now he was cooking what seemed to be an incredibly full breakfast, complete with RonÕs least favorite food ever, fried toast. Knowing that his best friend also had little liking for that particular part of a ÔtraditionalÕ English breakfast, Ron quickly came to the realization that Ginny must have stayed over last night. It seemed that Harry was using the same plan as himself to get some time alone with the woman he loved. Ron chuckled as he made his way to the kettle and mooched some of the hot water to make tea in his favorite mug. 

ÒYou know,Ó he started while summoning the sugar, Òif I were like the rest of my brothers, IÕd be preparing to thrash you for the fact that Ginny stayed here last night.Ó

ÒYeah,Ó replied Harry, Òand if you were any _other_ member of the Weasley clan, IÕd have kicked you and your fiancŽe out last night instead of just casting a   
Silencing charm on your room.Ó Ron had to fight to swallow his mouthful of tea rather than choking on it in the fit of laughter that seized him. Seeing HarryÕs smirk only made matters worse, and he decided to set his mug down before he made a huge mess all over the kitchen. 

ÒSorry about that, mate. HermioneÕs idea, I swear. She and I, well, we both came to our senses and apologized last night and one thing led to anotherÑÓ Harry cut him off with a raised hand.

ÒPlease, stop that sentence right now. I donÕt want to hear about that anymore than you want to hear about what Ginny had set up when I got home last night.Ó

Ron felt himself turn a slight shade of green and decided it was time for the conversation to change topics. ÒTrying to get her to spend the day with you rather than wedding plans?Ó

Harry nodded. ÒYeah, I thought we could all use a break from all of the planning. ThatÕs why I made so much.Ó He gestured behind him and Ron saw that there was indeed enough breakfast cooked for all four of themÑset out on two intricate silver platters that Harry must have pulled from the ancient china cabinet. 

ÒThanks a million, mate. I was only going to cook up some eggs and toast so IÕd be sure to catch ÔMione before she woke up. Never knew you for one to be bothered with breakfast, Harry.Ó Ron resumed sipping his tea idly as he watched Harry put a sausage on each plate.

ÒYeah, I donÕt really do it often anymore. It was always my job at the DursleysÕ. I guess I got kind of sick of watching Dudley swallow his tomatoes whole while Uncle Vernon talked with a mouthful of beans and sausage.Ó Harry exaggerated a shudder for RonÕs benefit, and the two shared a quick smile. ÒFigured we could all use a good breakfast, and all the better for us if it means we can keep the girls distracted for most of the day. You know they have GinÕs Hen Party tonight and I donÕt know about you, but IÕd actually like to spend some time with my fiancŽe before Fleur takes them out to whatever it is she has planned. SheÕs more secretive than you, I swear.Ó

Ron shook his head and said, ÒYouÕll not hear a word of complaint out of me about Fleur taking over the Hen Night. If ÔMione had one more thing to plan IÕm pretty sure her head would have exploded by now.Ó 

At this, Harry shot Ron a look that clearly conveyed that Harry believed it was _Ron_ who would have had the problem with Hermione adding to her workload. Ron suddenly found renewed interest in his tea, though he had the grace to shrug slightly. Harry took it for the admission that it was, and began to put the finishing touches on the two breakfast trays. With a flick of his wand, the dark-haired wizard cast a Warming charm over the piles of food and levitated one of the silver platters onto RonÕs waiting hands.

ÒJust donÕt ÔforgetÕ the Silencing charm again. I had to talk Ginny out of starting a contest last night.Ó

Balancing both his mug of tea and the heavily laden tray with ease, Ron responded. ÒThank Merlin you did, Harry. I think IÕd have been scarred for life.Ó

ÒYeah, well,Ó chuckled Harry, Òconsidering Hermione is practically my sister, I think IÕm the one that has the most right to talk about scars. Of course I suppose last night could be considered pay back for that night you had to listen to me and Gin . . .Ó Harry laughed at the expression of pure horror that crossed RonÕs face. ÒAll right, all right, IÕll stop! But on a serious note, IÕm glad that you and Hermione seemed to have worked through whatever was wrong.Ó 

RonÕs face morphed into his typical lopsided grin, a cheeky glint in his eye. ÒYeah, me too. Speaking of which, IÕm going to go ensure that I remain in her good graces.Ó It was HarryÕs turn to shudder as Ron very deliberately waggled his eyebrows. The dark-haired wizard made exaggerated gagging noises at his friendÕs back before gathering up his own tray and heading to the room he shared with Ginny.

*~*~*~*~*

Hermione awoke to the smell of sausage and the sound of RonÕs whistling. The sound was one that was incredibly familiar, but that did not stop the wide smile that spread across her features upon hearing it. She stretched languidly, taking time to feel the sleepiness ease out of her body before opening her eyes. In a husky voice slightly thick with sleep, she joined in on the final chorus.

_ÒThatÕs why Gryffindors all sing, Weasley is our King.Ó_

As Ron leaned over to kiss her cheek, Hermione caught sight of the laden tray and felt her eyes widen. She squeaked in surprise when her stomach growled audibly. To her amusement, she found herself flushing as Ron laughed merrily.

ÒSee, thatÕs how you can tell IÕm an excellent ruler. I anticipate the needs of my subjects before _they_ do,Ó Ron gently set the tray down on the bed and sat down opposite her. ÒCourtesy of our host, who apparently cast a silencing spell on our room last night.Ó Hermione watched the cheeky grin spread across RonÕs face and could not help but smile along with him. She nodded her thanks as Ron levitated her favorite mug to her, and found he had prepared it just as she always drank itÑtwo spoons of sugar and a splash of milk.

ÒHarry wasnÕt too terribly disturbed, was he?Ó She felt her concerns dissipate as Ron chuckled again while putting marmalade on a piece of toast before handing it to her.

ÒNo, he was actually rather keen to not talk about it. Seems to think it was fair payback for that night I got stuck listening to him and Ginny. Wish IÕd thought to cast the charm on their room. Instead, I spent the entire evening with a pillow over my head trying to picture _anything_ else . . And just what is so funny?Ó Hermione hadnÕt been able to restrain the bubbling laughter that came to her at the image of Ron lying in bed wishing he were anywhere else. She took a bite of toast to give her time to think before continuing.

ÒGinny may have mentioned that particular incident when we were talking yesterday. I found it quite horrifying yesterday, but something about the way you tell it makes me laugh.Ó

ÒFlatterer, IÕm rubbish at telling stories,Ó Ron grumbled as he crunched into a bit of bacon. Hermione could hardly believe he still had so little faith in his abilities.

ÒOh, but Ron, thatÕs not true! YouÕre a brilliant story tellerÑit was one of my favorite things about your letters. You made me feel as if I were there with you.Ó

A tender smile crossed RonÕs face, ÒI just didnÕt want you to think youÕd been forgotten.Ó

ÒHow could I when you made sure to keep me a part of everything? Do you remember the letter you sent about running into Draco at Gringotts?Ó

ÒYou mean the ferret?Ó

HermioneÕs nose crinkled in laughter, ÒYes, Ron, the ferret. Well, the day after I received that letter I went into the office still laughing to myself about the way you described the incident. When I got to work, it just so happened that a member of the delegation was considering purchasing a pet for their child and was considering a ferret, and they asked me my opinion. I had to bite the insides of my cheeks so hard to keep from laughing as I suggested a nice cat instead as an option for the young girl.Ó

ÒYou know, love, youÕre not such a bad storyteller yourself. Though I donÕt think I would describe any cat as nice. . .Ó Ron easily dodged the playful swat she aimed at him.

ÒOh, hush you. Leave ÔShanks alone! He came around to liking you in the end, you know. Now tell me, how was the Stag Night?Ó Hermione sat back on the bed with a contented sigh as Ron launched into a detailed recounting of the previous evening. The pick-up Quidditch game was one of her favorite bits, as RonÕs obvious enthusiasm for the topic shone through. She was shocked to hear the list of gifts that the boys had decided to present Harry with, especially the bit about Neville. 

ÒI donÕt know why, but thereÕs something moderately disturbing at how honest he was with that.Ó

ÒYouÕre not the only one who thought so, ÔMione. Truth be told, I was more bothered by HarryÕs face when he opened _GinnyÕs_ present. I think there was something else in that box, his face was way to red for just a pair of boxers, even if they did have Pygmy Puffs on them,Ó Hermione carefully kept her face blank as Ron searched her features for a clue. She knew _exactly_ what was in that box, Ginny having roped her in to taking the picture. That particular item went on the list of things Ron never needed to know she had been a part of. After a few moments of silence, Ron continued with his story.

ÒBut see the best part of the entire thing came later on. After all the planning and everything, I got to come home and make things right with the person whoÕd been on my mind throughout all the festivities.Ó He leaned over and kissed a bit of marmalade from the corner of her lips, ÒIÕm so glad you were here and that I got the chance to apologize for being a prat.Ó

ÒWell,Ó she began in a mock serious voice, Òyou were a prat, but youÕre my prat so I suppose that makes things a bit better. Besides, I have to say IÕd been a bit of a stubborn know it all,Ó she arched an eyebrow as Ron tried to disguise a snort of laughter with a cough, watching as a panicked look spread across his features. Instead of ranting at him as she was sure he was expecting, she joined in with laughter of her own. ÒWe always do things the hard-headed way, but IÕm glad weÕre back to being us.Ó

ÒI whole heartedly agree to that sentiment indeed! So you have to tell me, howÕs my master plan working?Ó 

ÒPlan, Ronald? What on earth are you talking about?Ó

ÒWell, you see, I figured out the best way to cement last nightÕs apologies. We have to stay in bed all day, no being productive whatsoever. So I thought breakfast in bed. . .Ó

ÒBreakfast in bed that your best friend cooked!Ó 

ÒOi, thatÕs not my fault. Harry and I have always had shared moments of brilliance, and the man would like a little time with his fiancŽe too. So what do you say, love, can we have a lazy Saturday?Ó

Hermione bit her lower lip in thought, ÒI donÕt know, Ron. IÕve got GinnyÕs Hen Night tonight and I wanted to get some work done this afternoonÑdid I tell you Mr. Aldridge made me leave work early yesterday?Ó

Ron shook his head as he continued eating his sausage while making a questioning noise. Hermione was reminded of all their years at Hogwarts when sheÕd thought his habit of communicating while eating disturbing, but that was before sheÕd ever considered how fast his metabolism seemed to be. Used to this kind of non-verbal communication at this point, she continued with her story.  
ÒI was having a very hard time focusing on anything, so he sent me home and told me to take care of whatever was bothering me.Ó

ÒWell clearly thatÕs what weÕre doing nowÑrebuilding bridges and making things stronger--and donÕt you dare expect me to believe you arenÕt at least three weeks ahead of your work schedule. Come on, ÔMione, what have you got to lose?Ó He turned his big blue eyes on her, and she found she couldnÕt resist the joyous idea of lazing about with him all day.

ÒOh all right, I donÕt much want to think about ÔFleurÕs feteÕ at any rate,Ó at the thought of the eveningÕs plans, Hermione felt her mood darken slightly and she idly pushed the beans around on her plate. She felt Ron scoot up beside her on the bed and then levitate the food onto a nightstand, leaving her hands with nothing to fidget.

ÒRight, are you going to tell me whatÕs got you so upset about this Hen Night or do I have to drag it out of you?Ó She began to protest, but realized the futility in that when Ron sent her a look that she was sure heÕd learned from his mother.

ÒWell, FleurÕs got it planned for us to go to a Muggle club in London after we all meet at Shell Cottage. When Gin mentioned wanting to do something ÔunnoticeableÕ, I thought weÕd just have a girlsÕ night in, not go out dancing for MerlinÕs sake.Ó

ÒWhy on earth are you worried about going dancing? As I recall you were quite good at it back at Hogwarts.Ó 

Hermione loved the look of befuddlement that crossed RonÕs features. Blushing, she continued, ÒBecause Ron, thatÕs not at all how people dance at Muggle clubs. ItÕs very different and IÕm not sure how comfortable I am with doing it.Ó

ÒWell,Ó Ron wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. Once he securely had her there he began punctuating his sentences with light kisses all over her face. ÒSo go but donÕt dance that much. Have fun with the girls, laugh a lot and try to relax a bit. No oneÕs going to expect you to do anything youÕre not comfortable with.Ó

It was typical of Ron to make her worries seem trivial and to point out the path that let her be the most like herself. In that moment, she was swept up with love for him. Hermione wrapped her arms around RonÕs neck and pulled him into a heated kiss. When the two finally broke for air she rested her forehead against his. ÒI am beginning to like the idea of spending all day in bed, in fact I think itÕs the best idea youÕve had in a long time.Ó To show her appreciation she pressed her body close to his and began to nibble on his ear, eliciting a moan of appreciation from Ron.

Later Ron would comment that it had almost been a shame to let such a magnificent breakfast be forgotten, and Hermione would smile into his chest.

*~*~*~*~*~*  
As the afternoon drew to evening, Hermione and Ginny went back to GinnyÕs flat to prepare for the Hen Night. Though she wasnÕt quite sure how it had happened, Hermione had promised her best friend that she would wear whatever outfit Ginny picked, and even sit still long enough for her hair and makeup to be done. Now sitting on GinnyÕs bed, debating between three outfits her friend had laid out, Hermione was beginning to regret whatever bout of insanity had caused her to agree to this.

She took another look at the tiny skirt coupled with a pair of skin tight leggings and called out to the open door of the bathroom, ÒGinny, are you absolutely certain this is what Muggles wear?Ó 

ÒWhat, the skirt bit? Yeah, apparently thatÕs quite popular though I canÕt understand why,Ó the fiery young woman came out of the bathroom wrapped in a robe and a towel over her red-hair. ÒLooks like something Lavender would wear, doesnÕt it?Ó

ÒGinny! ThatÕs not nice!Ó

ÒOh come off it Hermione, we both know you donÕt have an overwhelming fondness for the girl. Besides, she always did dress a bit . . . provocatively. Remember when she decided that the whole world needed to see her cleavage when you were in fifth year?Ó

Hermione laughed at the memory, ÒHow could I forget? I had to watch her perform certain enhancing charms before she would head out into the common room. I swear, the sorting hat couldnÕt have put two girls more different from me into Gryffindor that year!Ó

ÒYes, it could have; imagine if Pansy had been a Gryffindor!Ó Both girls wrinkled their noses at the thought and then burst into more laughter. It took several minutes for them to calm down from GinnyÕs suggestion of the twins testing products on the uptight witch in between classes before they could get back to the task at hand. Eventually, Hermione selected a pair of dark flared jeans and a halter top that was made of a diaphanous blue fabric and had some lacework under the bust-line. By HermioneÕs standards, it was incredibly risquŽ while still being classy, and it got the Ginny ÔSeal of Approval.Õ 

In the span of a few moments Hermione found herself sitting very still in a chair and trying not to scrunch up her eyes as Ginny carefully applied eye shadow. Hermione only put on a light amount of make up for work, and she generally used magic to do so. Ginny, however, insisted that this wasnÕt the best way to achieve the dramatic effect desired for their evening out, and since it was her Hen Party, Hermione went along with it. She decided it was better to talk and attempt to distract herself than sit in fidgety silence. 

ÒBy the way, I think your photograph got the reaction you were hoping for. Apparently Harry hid it from all of the boys, but IÕm guessing he was rather pleased?Ó

Ginny paused a moment to laugh before continuing with her project, ÒOh, IÕd say so. Kept telling me how Ôruddy unfairÕ it was all night long. But I will tell you this--he was wearing the boxers when we left. Speaking of last night, howÕs my daft brother?Ó  
ÒOh Ginny,Ó Hermione laughed, Òhe wasnÕt the one being daft, I was. And as far as last night goes, it actually went over relatively well. We both realized we were being foolish the past few weeks, and he helped me come to terms with the fact that everything isnÕt going to be perfect all of the time. So yes, weÕre all made up now.Ó

Ginny snorted in what she was sure Mum-Weasley would have called a very unladylike fashion. ÒMade up indeed, as if I didnÕt know. It was _my_ Harry that had to cast the charm for you two lovebirds last night. Now tell me, did Ron really forget or was that all you?Ó

Hermione opened her eyes and, though she was blushing enough to rival a Weasley, gave Ginny a wink, which caused the two to dissolve into further gales of laughter. It took several minutes for the two of them to calm down enough for Ginny to put HermioneÕs hair up in a loose twist, tendrils of chestnut curls hanging down around her neck. Ginny pulled her friend over to the mirror, and Hermione was shocked to see the sexy young woman in the reflection. Ginny had done something with the eye makeup that made her look ethereal, and her hair looked perfect. She ran her hands over the folds of the shirt down to her hips, and then sent Ginny a few stuttered words of thanks.

Ginny made Hermione turn all around so that she could get a view of her handiwork. The red-head stood before the brunette, her hand on her right hip and beamed. 

ÒYou know, for a workaholic you clean up well. Come on,Ó Ginny muttered as she waved a quick drying charm over her hair, Òhelp me pick out what IÕm wearing before Fleur decides that weÕre late.Ó

Hermione was about to respond when they heard a ringing voice echoing from the flatÕs fireplace. ÒGinny? ÔErmione? Where are you, eet is almost time for ze fun to begin!Ó

The two young women looked at each other and burst into yet another round of giggles. Hermione could only hope that the actual party would be half as much fun as the getting ready.


	10. Chapter 10 - Girls' Night Out

Hermione paused a moment after Apparating to take in her surroundings. Balanced precariously above the waves, the placement of Shell Cottage always took her breath away, The effect was doubled because her first memories of visiting the place were so emotionally powerful. She had but to close her eyes and she was back to that trying day-exhausted from being tortured at the hands of that vile Lestrange woman, mourning the brave house-elf who had saved them and, above all of this sadness juxtaposed with a sense of elation. It had not mattered that she couldn't move out of the bed she was placed in; her heart had been soaring through the clouds. For in all the years that were to come, Hermione would remember that otherwise horrid day as one of her favorites, for it had been the day she became certain that Ron loved her. 

 

He had saved her from giving in to the darkness at Malfoy Manor through the power of his voice calling out to her, and had then taken her to the safety of Shell Cottage. When the events of the day had finally taken their toll on her, she slid into the realms of sleep, conscious of the fact that Ron was sitting at her bedside, watching over her.

 

In the quiet of the night that followed, Hermione awoke to find Ron clutching her hand and sobbing. It was only the second time she had ever seen him cry, and the shock of this was magnified by the fierce grip he had on her right hand. Concerned, she had lifted her left hand from where it lay by her side and cupped his cheek with it. Hermione could still remember the relief that had washed over his face when his eyes met hers and the telling way he had leaned his cheek into her hand. It was in that moment she knew that the feelings she had for him were returned, though neither of them had said a word.

 

"Hermione? Hello? Paging Ms. Hermione Granger, are you in there?"

 

Hermione jumped visibly as she was brought away from her memories by the sound of Ginny's voice. She blinked several times to clear her head before smiling apologetically at her friend. The brunette was surprised when Ginny cocked her head to the side and gave her an analyzing look.

 

"What is it, Gin?" Hermione hoped she had not offended the younger woman by getting lost in thought.

 

"Nothing. I just hope that when I'm thinking about Harry I look the same way you do when you're thinking about Ron." The younger woman reached out and gave Hermione's shoulder a squeeze. "Even if my brother is the world's greatest git sometimes, and even if I never understand how you put up with him, I'm very happy for the two of you."

 

Surprised by the sudden sentimental turn the conversation had taken, Hermione found tears welling in her eyes. Before she could express her gratitude, however, Ginny cut her off.

 

"Don't you _dare_ start crying and ruin all my hard work on your make-up. I don't know when I'll be able to convince you to let me get you all dolled up again, so this stuff has to last! Come on, let's get inside and get this started before Fleur gets it in her head we're not coming and Floo'ed to Mum's." Ginny tempered her reproach by grabbing Hermione's hand. Smiling, Hermione allowed herself to be led to the door of Shell Cottage.

 

As Ginny opened the door, her eldest brother, who was balancing young Victoire on his hip, greeted her. After giving both Ginny and Hermione a quick one-armed hug, he allowed the two women to fuss briefly over their niece. 

 

"Say good night to your aunts, poppet, or there might not be any trifle left at Gramma's. You Uncle George does love her trifle best of all, he'll eat it all up!"

 

The toddler looked at her father and spoke with eloquence far greater than her three years. "You are wrong, Papa. Uncle George always saves some for me, even when Maman doesn't want him to." Hermione beamed at the wife child, fully aware (as all the family was) that George doted heavily on the girl born on the anniversary of his twin's death. Bill seemed at a loss for what to say next, and he eyed Ginny pleadingly.

 

"But Victoire, I know that your Uncle Harry is bringing Teddy over to the Burrow tonight. Uncle George knows too, and I bet he and Uncle Percy will have brought presents for you both!" The crystal-blue eyes of the child lit up as she considered this new development. Her strawberry-blonde hair swished as she turned excitedly to her father, insisting they leave now before Teddy got to have all of the fun. Bill chuckled while thanking his sister before leading them to the sitting room. Fleur was there waiting, and she began shooing her husband and daughter towards the fireplace.

 

"Out! Zee guests will be arriving at any moment. I love you both vairy much, but you muzt go!" Giving them both an extra kiss to make up for the fact she was kicking them out of their home, Fleur held their pot of Floo powder out towards Bill. The deep voice of the red-haired man called out "The Burrow," and he and his charming daughter disappeared in a rush of green flame.

 

" 'Onestly, I told zem to leave ages ago, but Victoire wanted to zee you before she left. Zat girl has 'er Papa wrapped around 'er leetle finger, so stay zey did. I 'ope you do not mind, Ginny?"

 

The usually pretty French witch had outdone herself this evening. Her long silvery-blonde hair was done up in an elegant twist, and she wore a short, black sleeveless dress coupled with a pair of heels that would fit in easily in the Muggle World. Concern radiated from her, and it was clear to Hermione that she very much wanted the evening to go well.

 

Ginny smiled at her sister-in-law while shaking her head, "It's not a problem at all, Fleur. I love any chance to see my niece. I swear she's grown again since last week."

 

 

Fleur gave a throaty laugh before replying, "I suppose zat is possible, she doez zeem to take after her Papa in so many ways. But come, we can talk of family some ozzer time. Tonight is for you!"

 

With a wave of her wand, Fleur's tastefully decorated sitting room became festooned with balloons and streamers. A banner was strung across the room proclaiming in scrolling script, "Congratulations Ginny!" A wizard photograph of Ginny zooming on her broom across the length of the banner followed the script, then after a brief pause, the animation would repeat itself. With another wave of Fleur's wand, a large pile of presents on the small table in the corner of the room became visible. 

 

Ginny seemed to be a tad overwhelmed by all of the preparations Fleur had obviously gone to-Hermione knew she had been expecting a very quiet, subdued affair. If possible, the red head's blush deepened even further when Fleur waved her wand a final time, revealing a veritable feast of Ginny's favorite foods and bottles of butterbeer. Ginny made several stuttering attempts to thank her sister-in-law, but couldn't seem to find her voice. Fleur crossed the room and quickly enveloped Ginny in a large hug.

 

"Do not zank me for putting zis togezzer. You are my seestair. And I am 'appy to do eet for you. Now zen, zee guests should be 'ere at any moment. . ."

 

No sooner had the words left the French witch's mouth than a series of pops were heard outside, followed by a knocking at the door. Fleur excused herself to allow the other members of the party in, and Ginny collapsed onto the overstuffed couch. There was a dazed look in her brown eyes as Hermione crossed the room to check on her best friend.

 

"Gin, hon, are you all right?"

 

Blinking a few times, Ginny's eyes came back into focus on Hermione's worried features. An embarrassed smile filled her face before she replied, "Yeah, I'm fine. Feel like a bit of a prat, though. Here I've been complaining about this party all week, thinking that it would be something completely awful like, oh I don't know...Champagne, caviar and bad foreign films? And all because Fleur was planning it. The party hasn't even started yet and it's clear she put a lot of effort into making this something really special that I would like. I'm a horrid person, really."

 

"You are _not_ a horrid person! Merlin, Ginny, even I'm surprised at all of this. I just thought we were going out dancing, I had no idea Fleur would put something like this together . . ."

 

The conversation was cut short as Hermione heard the new group of women headed in their direction. She watched as Ginny heard it too, immediately composing herself. The bride-to-be stood to greet the guests, while Hermione remained seated on the couch. From her position, she could see the party guests enter the room and greet Ginny in their own way.

 

 

Audrey, Percy's long time girl friend, was the first to enter. George liked to refer to her as a compendium of contradictions. The former Ravenclaw kept a cool and quiet mask on in professional situations, but when around friends and family she displayed a biting, and ready laugh. Her hair fell in auburn (Percy got himself a redhead, did he? Well, she'll fit right in. People won't be able to tell which is the Weasely.) waves to nearly her waist, and when she entered the room, she smiled widely at Ginny. At only five feet, she was the shortest of the group, even when wearing the heels she favored over all other forms of footwear. The petite woman shared a hug with Ginny before sending a small wave in Hermione's direction and crossing to sit beside her. 

 

"Fleur really got into this whole Hen Night thing, didn't she? I'd half thought that we'd just sit around and chat about the boys all night long." The quick-witted witch summoned butterbeers for herself and Hermione, before continuing. "That, or perhaps she would start a discussion about the meaning of love everlasting." Hermione giggled along with Audrey, marveling at the woman's ability to say exactly what she was thinking before responding.

 

"Oh, I'm sure Fleur has several ideas to keep us all entertained-although I am still a bit nervous about this dancing bit. . ."

 

 

"Come off it, Hermione, you worry too much! We'll have a fantastic time--just you wait and see."

 

 

While the two women had been talking, Ginny had been warmly greeted by Angelina Johnson. The two were briefly discussing the latest Quidditch scores before the final party guest made her way into the room.

 

 

Hermione couldn't say why, but Luna Lovegood seemed more distracted than usual this evening. There seemed to be something she was hiding behind her less than tranquil smile as she patiently awaited her turn to greet her long time best friend. However, when Luna's silvery-grey eyes met Ginny's, Hermione was sure she must have been imagining things. The two women embraced like sisters and were still talking animatedly when Fleur re-entered the room and called their attention to her.

 

 

" 'ello everyone. Virst of all, Ginny I 'ope you do not mind 'ow few people I invited for tonight's festivities. I zought eet might be eazier for uz to go about if we were not in a crowd. Zo for tonight, I zought it could be juzt uz girls from zee family and, of course, Luna."

 

 

Ginny shook her head before replying, "No, Fleur, of course I don't mind. This is really wonderful. I cannot thank you enough, in all truthfulness. This is absolutely perfect."

 

"Well, I zought zat since you 'ave not gotten too 'ave much zat could be considered private lately, zat you might like a certain degree of, how do you say, anonymity when celebrating zis momentous occasion. Zat is why I chose zee Muggle Club option over zee better known Wizarding clubs zat were offering us VIP packages. I zought it would be fun for us all to juzt go be girls having fun, and to not worry about what zee _Daily Prophet_ trying to snap photoz of your last night out on zee town."

 

Hermione thought Fleur's plan was brilliant, and knew that Ginny would welcome the break from being all over the Wizarding world's papers in relation to her wedding. She was about to voice her own feelings of gratitude when she saw an excited gleam in Fleur's eyes.

 

"Bezides, I zought we could perhaps begin a family tradition zat my mozzer had with her seestairs and seestairs-in-law. Zince I was zee first to get married, I wanted to hold Ginny's party. Zen she shall hold Luna's, Luna can hold Hermione's and so on. Are you all agreeable to zis leetle plot of mine?"

 

The gathered women looked at each other and each nodded slowly, there was something very. . . right about Fleur's proposal. They all began to smile at each other at the thought, and Fleur clapped her hands in excitement.

 

"Wonderful! And now, my dearz, let zee fun begin! Zhall we start wiz zee prezents?"

 

As each of the gathered women tried to convince Ginny to open her gift first, Hermione felt herself get caught up in the excitement of the evening. If these first few minutes were any indication, the rest of the evening promised to be one she would always remember. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The music of the club consisted of songs Hermione was sure she had heard during the last summer holiday she had spent with her parents in between fifth and sixth year. Occasionally, she and Audrey-who was also Muggle-born-would both recognize a song and immediately begin singing along as well as dancing, breaking in to hysterical laughter afterwards. She was forced to concede that even this part of Fleur's idea had been absolutely brilliant. They had all been able to go out and be themselves without fear of how the morning's _Prophet_ would report their actions. This party had become Hermione's favorite part of the wedding to date.

 

Beckoning Ginny over to her, Hermione had to practically shout in her friend's ear in ordered to be heard over the music. "I'll be back soon, I'm just going to find the loo!"

 

 

Ginny nodded at her and resumed dancing to some song Hermione sort of recognized, though she couldn't rightly recall who it was by. After several minutes of pushing her way through the crowded club, Hermione managed to escape into the ladies' toilets. She hurriedly crossed through the lounge area to the nearest sink on order to splash some water on her neck in an attempt to try and cool down. As she began to take in her posh surroundings, she heard a sob coming from the lounge. After a quick look, she saw that the bathroom was completely empty, save herself and the huddled figure on one of the couches. Approaching, she saw familiar waves of dirty-blonde hair obscuring the sobbing woman's face, and Hermione immediately became concerned. When she saw the odd clothes the woman was wearing, she was certain.

 

"Oh my goodness, Luna? Darling, what in the name of Merlin is wrong?" Hermione hastily crossed to sit beside the girl and take her hands in her own. In that moment she desperately wished they were in a wizard club so that she might use her wand to conjure tissues for the crying woman. She looked around, but the closest box of Kleenex was across the room, and there was no way she was leaving Luna now. 

 

Turning back to face her friend, she noticed that Luna's red-rimmed eyes were now focused on her, and had to lean in close to hear her friend-who's voice was nothing like it's usual airy tones but harsh and raw from crying-speak to her, "Neville and I have called off our engagement."


End file.
